


'Til I Find Someone New

by OnstageSport



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Davey is Jewish, Gay Male Character, High School, I'll add more tags each time I update, Jack Kelly callout chapter, Jack and Race bonding, Jack is jealous, Jack isn't the only one who's jealous, Jack makes bad decisions but what else is new, Jealousy, M/M, Medda and Jack bonding, Minor Violence, Modern Era, Mush is an asshole, Pining, Spot is savage, Swearing, grammatical flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-11-28 04:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnstageSport/pseuds/OnstageSport
Summary: When Spot asks Davey out and he accepts, it throws a wrench into his friendship with Jack.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ActingItUp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActingItUp/gifts).



Jack and Davey always had a couple of slices at Tibby’s Pizzeria on Wednesday between the end of the school day and the start of Jack’s shift. They would sit in the same booth each week and start on their homework, Davey helping Jack through any particularly difficult algebra problems or editing any essays.

Sometimes their other friends would join them but that was less routine than Jack and Davey’s weekly meetings. On this particular Wednesday, it was just the two of them sharing a small half-pepperoni, half-veggie (Jack pretended to vomit on the vegetable half, which Davey didn’t find nearly as amusing as he did) and a side of breadsticks as Davey tried to explain matrices in a comprehensible fashion.

“Just give it up, Dave,” Jack groaned, slamming his textbook shut. “I don’t get it and I never will.”

“That’s not true,” Davey assured, shaking his head. “You’re gonna get this.”

He started to explain the concept again in a different manner, hoping that that would help, but Jack cut him off again saying he had to get ready for his shift. Davey didn’t tend to stay too long after Jack’s shift started since waiting for him to get off would require staying in the pizzeria for hours, worrying his mother.

As Davey packed his school supplies back into his bag, a breadstick protruding from his mouth, the bell on the door of Tibby’s chimed. Davey didn’t pay much mind to the arrival since he was about to leave, that was until the newcomer slid into the seat across from Davey.

“Well, ain’t that an image,” Spot laughed, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and Davey immediately removed the breadstick and placed it gently on his plate.

Davey glanced around the shop, unsure of why Spot was even talking to him.

“Jack just started his shift,” Davey explained as Jack took his place behind the counter. Spot was probably looking for Jack.

Spot tilted his head slightly to the side and knitted his brows together in confusion.

“I’m not here for Jack,” he scoffed. Then he smiled charmingly and slid his hand across the table, his fingertips stopping centimeters from David’s. “I’m here for you.”

“Me?” Davey repeated as he sat up straighter, shocked by that. He glanced over to Jack, who seemed to be equally confused by the interaction he was witnessing.

“Yeah, you,” Spot confirmed. He closed the gap between their hands and laced their fingers together. Davey stared at the juncture with wide eyes.

Davey spluttered for a few moments in surprise, feeling his face heat. Since when did Spot Conlon _hold hands_? Especially with _him_ After a few more half-words, he finally managed, “ _Why_?”

Spot laughed endearingly, his eyes sparkling as he looked over David.

“You’re too cute for your own good,” he commented. Davey was certain that he must be blushing now. “‘Why?’ ’Cause I was just wondering…” He gave Davey another charming smile and ran his thumb across the back of his hand. “If I might get your number?”

It took Davey longer than it should have to process the request. Once he did, though, he immediately scrawled the digits on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to Spot, stammering out various agreements.

“I’ll give you a call, or a text, or something,” Spot beamed, sliding out of the booth and stealing a slice of pepperoni from Jack’s side of the pizza. He was about to take a bite when he paused and asked, “Ain’t you not allowed to eat this? I thought you wasn’t allowed-”

“It’s Jack’s half,” Davey explained quickly. A moment of silence fell over them before he asked if he was supposed to have Spot’s number too.

Spot immediately whipped out his phone and sent a quick text, consulting the paper David had given him. A few seconds later, Davey’s pocket vibrated.

“There you go,” Spot nodded. He still hovered close to the table, clearly having more to say. Just when Davey opened his mouth to ask what else he needed, Spot continued. “D’you wanna go out? Sometime?”

“What do you mean ‘out?’” Davey asked. Surely Spot couldn’t mean like a date.

“Like, a date. You and me. Out.” Davey had never seen Spot this awkward before. The feared Brooklyn boy was at a loss for words.

Davey glanced again over to Jack, who was busy taking the order of a small family that had entered without Davey’s noticing. He looked back to Spot with a smile and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure; I’d like that,” he agreed.

“Aquarium? Friday?” Spot asked. “I heard they got a new octopus.”

Davey’s smile widened.

“I recant my statement, then,” he said. When Spot’s face fell, it was finally his turn to laugh. “No! I just meant, I’d love that.”

Spot let out a sigh of relief. He had actually been worried for a second that Davey was going to turn him down over an octopus. With their plans in place, Spot finally excused himself from the pizzeria, swiping a breadstick on his way.

Davey settled in against the back of the booth, smiling to himself in disbelief, his eyes trained on the seat Spot had just occupied. He had a date. He had a _date_.

He dug his phone from his pocket and looked at his latest text message from an unknown number. It consisted entirely of two emojis: a red heart and a dog face. Spot. David smiled down at the message and entered the contact information. He returned it to his pocket once he finished.

“So, what did Spot want?” Jack asked, appearing beside the booth once both the family he had been serving and the boy in question were gone.

“My number,” Davey said, still somewhat dazed. He looked up at Jack, his small smile threatening to burst into an all-out beaming grin. “And to know if I wanted to go to the aquarium with him on Friday. On a date.”

Jack’s chest tightened inexplicably. Something about that sat wrong with him. He didn’t trust Spot not to hurt Davey.

“And?” he prompted, trying to keep his voice even and unbiased. Davey shrugged, but the demure smile that spread across his face told Jack all he needed to know. “Ah. Okay then. Have fun looking at your fishes.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Davey beamed, giving himself over to his happiness. He finished packing his bag and grabbed the remaining food for his walk home. “I’ll see you tomorrow. If you need any help with algebra, just give me a call.”

With that, Davey left Tibby’s and Jack waved goodbye though his stomach sank. He had a bad feeling about this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but I got impatient

“I’m telling you, I got a bad feeling about this,” Jack griped to Racetrack that Friday as they walked to Race’s house after school. They were going to play a new video game that he had just purchased. “A real bad feeling.”

“So, Davey’s got a boyfriend, big deal,” Race shrugged. This conversation had been going on for five minutes too long—they had only been walking for about six minutes— and he was tired of hearing it.

“He’s _not_ his boyfriend,” Jack corrected stubbornly. He was only headed to the first (of hopefully few) dates. Then Davey would see that Spot was unfit to date him and they would break up and everything would be right with the world again. If it were anyone except for Spot, Jack would have worried that he was being irrational and standing in the way of Davey’s happiness. But it _was_ Spot so he didn’t have to worry about irrationality.

“Could be his boyfriend,” Race suggested simply to pester his friend.

“He’s not gonna be his stupid boyfriend!” Jack burst. “He’s just using Dave for, for…I don’t know, but it’s not good!” Finding out what Spot was using Dave for might strengthen his argument. “And Dave’s just gonna end up getting hurt and I don’t wanna have to say ‘I told you so,’ mostly ’cause I didn’t actually tell him that, but it’s not a good idea for them to be together!”

“Jeeze. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Racetrack laughed, earning a less-than-playful glare from Jack.

“I’m _telling_ you how I really feel,” Jack pointed out. He fixed Racetrack with a suspicious look. “Why ain’t _you_ more upset over this anyhow? Haven’t you been eyeing Spot for about your whole life?”

Race froze in the middle of the sidewalk, unnoticed by Jack for a few moments.

“Wait, _Spot_?” he repeated incredulously. “As in, Spot _Conlon_?”

“Yeah. Have you not been listening to me this whole time?” Jack accused, grabbing Race by the collar and dragging him a few steps forward to catch up with him. “Yes, Spot Conlon. You know any other ‘Spots?’”

Race opened his mouth to defend himself but he figured that this might be the one instance where honesty would work just fine.

“I figured this was just gonna be another ‘I’m in love with Davey’ speech so I kinda just tuned you out,” he confessed.

This time, Jack stopped. That was the first he had heard of that news.

“I’m not—what d’ya mean ‘another?’ When have I ever said ‘I’m in love in Dave,’ huh?”

“Right now,” Race smirked. He shrugged and started walking again, gesturing for Jack to keep pace.

Jack jogged to match Racetrack’s steps.

“I’m not _in love_ with Dave, I’m just looking out for him,” Jack explained once they fell into step. “I mean, I know you’s in love with Spot and all but you gotta know that he’s not good for someone like Dave. Not that Dave is _fragile_ or nothing, it’s just that he’s, yaknow-”

“Yeah, see, these are the sorts of things I tune out ’cause you start getting all sappy over your…” Race faltered for a few seconds, struggling to come up with a nickname. He continued with a scoff, “I dunno, your sheltered sunflower-”

“My what?” Jack choked out a laugh. That was the worst pet name Jack had ever heard and he’d overheard Blink call Mush ‘a sight for sore eyes’ because he thought it was funny.

Racetrack fixed Jack with an innocent look—as innocent a look as Racetrack could manage. Just because ‘sheltered sunflower’ may not be Jack’s gushy pet name of choice did not negate the fact that he probably _would_ use one to refer to Davey.

“I’m just saying,” Racetrack shrugged noncommittally. “You get all gooey over Davey and—”

“When have I _ever_ gotten ‘gooey’ over Dave?”

“Uh, how’s about last week when he had that article in the school paper?” Race cited.

“It was a good article!” Jack defended. “Front page and everything!”

“Or when he wore a blue shirt and you spent at least an hour making sure that everyone knew that it _perfectly_ matched his eyes?”

Jack scoffed and shook his head. He was an artist, he had an eye for color.

“What? Can’t a guy notice if his friend looks good?” There was nothing wrong with that.

“Not when both the guy and the friend are gay,” Race pointed out, laughing.

“Bi, thank you very much,” Jack huffed.

“Still. When was the last time you made such a fuss over how _I_ look?” Racetrack suggested with an overdramatic preening motion, hoping to back Jack into a corner.

“When was the last time you looked good?” Jack shot back.

“All the time, _thank you very much_ ,” Race bragged, popping his collar. Jack just rolled his eyes. Racetrack may not have been the worst dressed in his friend group—that title was held uncontestedly by Itey—but he certainly was not in the tier that he believed he was.

They came to an intersection and while Racetrack kept going straight ahead, Jack hung back and made a right turn. Race noticed after a few steps and got back onto the sidewalk so he would not risk being run over for the sake of conversation.

“Uh, Jack? You _do_ remember how to get to mine, don’tcha? It ain’t been _that_ long!” Race called out to him, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in case Jack truly had forgotten the way.

“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna head home,” Jack said with a nod. “See ya around.”

Race groaned loudly. He couldn’t believe how childish Jack was being! He was going to miss out on playing the newest _Battle of War_ game—and being the first of Race’s friends to do so—because Race didn’t listen to him complain?

“I still gotta do that essay for Denton,” Jack offered as his excuse, walking backwards down the sidewalk. If they were in a busier area of New York, he never would have taken that risk.

“You and I both know you ain’t gonna do it till Wednesday night!” Race shouted after him, but Jack seemed to be set in his decision to cancel their plans. “Okay, fine! Go on, then! I’ll just ask Mush or somebody. But know that you’re missing out!”

Jack offered a final wave before they each officially went their separate ways. He glanced back and, when he saw that Race was out of earshot, he dug his phone out of his pocket and sent him a text.

 

From: Jack  
Don’t sunflowers need, you know, sun to grow?

 

All he received in response was a middle finger emoji.

 

When Jack got home, he greeted his foster mother with a brief hug and then immediately excused himself to his bedroom. He found Crutchie already sitting on his bottom bunk of their shared bunk bed, scribbling away in a notebook. His laptop sat on the bedside table, playing some bubblegum pop song by some artist that Jack had never heard of before. Upon seeing him, Crutchie immediately turned off the music.

“Hey, Crutch,” Jack greeted with a smile, before digging his sketchbook and charcoal pencils out of his backpack and tossing them up onto his bed.

“Oh, hey Jack!” Crutchie beamed as Jack began the short climb up the ladder to his bed.

“I thought you were doing a thing with Race today?” Crutchie asked, leaning off his bed to try to talk to Jack face-to-face.

“I was. Got called off though,” Jack shrugged. He flopped onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling, thinking of what he wanted to sketch.

Crutchie frowned up at him and offered his condolences. As soon as the sentiment was halfway out of his mouth, Jack leaned over the side of his bed.

“You weren’t…uh, _counting_ on me being gone today, were you?” Jack asked. Even upside-down, he looked particularly concerned that his abrupt decision to cancel his plans with Racetrack—for very legitimate reasons, such as that essay, and not just because he was feeling unfairly prosecuted—might have thrown a wrench into Crutchie’s plans for the evening.

In response, Crutchie just laughed and shook his head. He assured Jack that he hadn’t had any official plans and that Jack’s presence definitely would not disturb him.

“Oh. Good,” Jack nodded before pushing himself back up onto his bed. He settled in and began to doodle, a warm-up sketch in an unused corner of a nearly-filled page, as Crutchie returned to his writing. Jack never understood why he didn’t use his computer to write but he let Crutchie live.

The pair returned to their individual activities, filling the silence with idle chatter at intervals. Crutchie asked why Jack’s plans fell through and Jack offered a vague ‘other stuff came up.’ He didn’t have the effort to put into improving the truth at the moment; he was focused on his doodle, which was quickly taking shape into a pair of hands clutching each other for dear life. He quickly moved to a clean page to sketch it properly. Jack asked Crutchie how his day at school was, and Crutchie told him all about the history test that he had prepared for all night, only to find that he had studied the wrong chapter. Crutchie asked about Denton’s essay and Jack laughed that he hadn’t even started it yet.

It was nearing six o’clock, almost dinner time, when Crutchie brought up the next conversation topic of any real importance.

“Hey, Jack?” he called up warily. “Did you see this?”

“See what?” Jack asked without looking up from his sketch. Crutchie didn’t answer immediately and Jack asked again.

“Spot Conlon’s latest Instagram post.”

Jack clenched his teeth in frustration. “I thought you was writing.”

“I took a break,” Crutchie explained before returning to the topic at hand. “I really think you should see this.”

Jack sighed and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. He scrolled through the app until he found a picture posted a few hours earlier that showed Davey silhouetted against the aquarium exhibit, staring at some shark through the glass. Jack hated that he could perfectly picture the look of wonder on Davey’s face as he rattled off little-known facts about the tiger shark, or whatever species it was he was looking at.

“You think you’re so funny, don’tcha Spot?” he grumbled. “‘Hashtag _Jaws_ dropping.’ Shut up.” He leaned over the side of the bed and asked Crutchie why he ‘really thought he should see that.’

Crutchie faltered for a few moments before he could supply his answer.

“Well, it…I just thought you oughta know where Davey was,” he finally responded.

“I know where he was,” Jack stated flatly, rolling back to lie down, his arms folded across his chest. “I was there when Spot asked him out.”

Crutchie’s jaw dropped. “So it’s a _date_ date?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course it’s a ‘date date,’” Jack scoffed and sat up again, disgusted at both the term and the reality of the situation. Davey was on a date date with Spot Conlon. “Why else would Spot take Dave to an aquarium?”

“Because aquariums are cool,” Crutchie informed with a hint of playfulness in his tone. “Wait. Davey is on a _date_ with Spot?” Jack hummed in confirmation. “ _Why_?” Jack shrugged and offered a confused hum. 

“Beats me,” he said honestly.

“Is it…is it a bet?” Crutchie pondered the reason behind the unfathomable couple. “A dare?”

Jack’s innards turned to ice. He hadn’t considered that possibility but he wouldn’t put it past Spot to try to earn a little extra money through nefarious means. Davey would be crushed.

As if he knew they were talking about him, Jack’s phone rang and the caller ID indicated that it was none other than their lovestruck friend.

“Dave,” Jack announced almost grimly.

“I’ll give you some privacy, then” Crutchie suggested, rising to his feet. He already had his crutch in hand when Jack dismissed that idea and quickly climbed down the ladder, two rungs at a time, with the still-ringing phone in his hand. He slipped away to the bathroom to take the call.

He accepted the call with a slight sigh. If it were anyone except Spot, Jack would feel bad for hoping Davey was calling to complain about how horribly the date went. Judging by that Instagram post, however, he couldn’t get his hopes up.


	3. Chapter 3

“Heya, Dave,” Jack greeted with a note of false cheeriness in his voice he hoped David wouldn’t catch. “Sorry took so long to answer. Had to get away from Crutchie. You know how it is sharing a room. No privacy.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dave assured. “Don’t worry about it.” Jack could practically hear his smile over the phone. That dashed all of Jack’s hopes about it not going well. _Be supportive_ , he reminded himself.

“Yeah, I’m taking your call in the bathroom,” Jack laughed.

“Wow Jack, you sure know how to make a guy feel special,” Davey teased him. Jack forced a chuckle while his stomach twisted itself into a knot. There was a brief pause on the line as Jack waited for Davey to start rambling and Davey waited for Jack’s permission to open the floodgates.

“So, how was it?” Jack finally conceded.

That was all that David needed because he began to word vomit what must have been every excruciating detail about the date. From Spot meeting up with him at the final bell and apparently jokingly asking if he was ready to go, to the true start of the date about an hour later; how Spot came to pick him up—“He already knew your address? That’s stalker behavior, Dave,” Jack interjected but Davey just laughed off his concern and informed him that he _told_ Spot his address, obviously—and what he was wearing and how they rode the subway to the aquarium, chatting and finding excuses to take the other’s hand as discreetly as they could manage.

Every minor interaction that had transpired between them must have been recounted to Jack. Every dumb joke—that Davey probably laughed too hard at, encouraging Spot to tell more, which was never a good thing—or every romantic or pseudo-romantic statement that Davey was left to interpret. How sometimes Spot would playfully nudge Davey’s side or his gaze would linger too long.

“I _don’t know_ , Dave,” Jack spelled out after being asked his opinion on a third vague comment that could have romantic intentions. “I don’t have a Spot-to-English dictionary. And even if I did…” He trailed off, not sure where he was going with that statement. He couldn’t tell Davey that Spot was just dating him as part of a dare, or a bet, or some other reason—not only would Davey not believe him (or if he did, it would ruin his weekend and they were supposed to hang out on Sunday) but he also didn’t have any real proof of that.

“Even if you did, what?” Davey asked. Jack could hear him frowning and his eyebrows knitting together in concerned confusion.

“I don’t know,” Jack sighed. “Look, Dave, I’m real happy for you, okay, but I gotta go. Dinner’s almost ready and you know how Ma is.” In actuality, dinner was probably a good fifteen minutes away but Jack simply couldn’t stand listening to another minute of the tale and what Davey didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“I didn’t even get to the best part!” Davey protested. Jack sighed and internally braced himself for whatever the best part of the date was. “Even though it’s real out of his way, Spot came all the way back to Manhattan with me to make sure I got home safe, and I said ‘well, what about you?’ and—”

“Dave, time limit, remember?” Jack prompted him to move along the story. Not that he actually wanted to hear where this was going. His stomach churned just thinking about it, or rather thinking about what he thought that ‘it’ was going to be.

“Right, yeah. Sorry. Anyway,” Davey continued, practically squealing as he got to the best part. He took a deep breath as though if he didn't he would faint out of excitement. Jack took this opportunity to prepare himself for the worst. “He almost kissed me!”

The wind was knocked out of him although he knew it was coming. Hearing it aloud was worse than just imagining the words being said. Jack felt like he might actually vomit; luckily the toilet was just a few steps away.

“He kissed you?” he repeated incredulously.

“Well, almost,” Davey corrected, just as gleefully. “But I could tell he wanted to!”

Jack hummed tersely and nodded as Davey waxed poetic about all the signs Spot had been sending him. Well, wasn’t that just fantastic. He seriously needed to find out what Spot was playing at here. He had to make sure Davey didn’t get hurt.

“You sound real happy with Spot.” He hoped he didn’t sound bitter. “I’m glad your date went so good.”

“Thanks, Jack!”

“But I really gotta get going now. Dinner, Ma, you understand.”

“Of course,” David chirped. “Enjoy your dinner, Jack.”

Jack thanked him, hung up, and stalked out of the bathroom, breezing past his mother as she emerged from the kitchen to set down a plate of chicken. As he whizzed by, she asked him to get his brother and the two of them could help set the table. Jack heard her, but did not respond as he had more important things to handle.

He entered his room and immediately grabbed his pillow off his bed, slamming his face into it and screaming in frustration. Crutchie stared up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m guessing that didn’t go well,” he observed quietly. He shifted to get out of bed, presuming they were needed. “Did Mom say-”

Jack cut him off with a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, it went _fantastic_ , according to Dave! Woulda gone on for another hour if I let him! I feel like _I_ went on a date with Spot—which, by the way, is the worst feeling I’ve ever had.”

Crutchie nodded knowingly as he pushed himself to his feet. He tried to ask again if their mother had asked for their assistance but Jack cut him off again.

“What was that look?” he asked, deadpan.

Crutchie cocked his head to the side slightly and asked, “What look? I didn’t have a look.”

“This look,” Jack scoffed before imitating Crutchie’s expression, raising his eyebrows and glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye with a Muppet-like grin. Crutchie just shrugged as though he had no idea what Jack was talking about.

“Did Mom say she needed help with the table?” Crutchie finally asked, diverting Jack’s attention from his uneasiness.

“Oh. Yeah, she did,” Jack confirmed. “We better do that, huh?”

Crutchie nodded and smiled as they left their room to set the table and eat. Jack was distant and grumpy all through the meal but he just shrugged it off as him just being tired when his mom asked.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack had spent Sunday afternoon with Davey, following through with plans they had made long before Spot Conlon interfered with their lives. It was awkward as Jack tried to skate around the elephant in the room and Davey seemed to be glancing at his phone every other minute to see if there was a new text from Spot. Jack was a third wheel to a boy who wasn’t even present. On top of all of that, he felt pressure to make every moment that he spent with Dave count since he was unsure when he would ever get the chance to see him again.

All of this compiled into a really awful afternoon and when Jack had returned home at dinner time, he offered to bring Crutchie out for dessert because he had to think things over and it wouldn’t hurt to viciously stab some ice cream. Their foster mother allowed it so long as they were back before it got too late (“And you bring me something!”). With a promise and a kiss goodbye from both of her sons, they took off to the ice cream shop a few streets over.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Jack grumbled, his shoulders twitching, as soon as they entered the nearly-empty shop.

“What’s the matter?” Crutchie asked, and Jack pointed out Spot Conlon sitting at one of the tables, drinking a milkshake. “Oh. Just ignore him, he’s probably leaving soon. Long way back to Brooklyn.”

Jack nodded absently but continued to glare at Spot out of the corner of his eye as they made their way up to the counter. He offered Crutchie the instruction to order for him and choose a table, promising to “be right back.”

Crutchie tried to warn him not to do anything rash and stupid, but it was Jack he was talking about so he was already gone, off to do something rash and stupid.

“What are you doing with Dave?” Jack demanded, approaching Spot’s table.

Spot looked up at him slowly, still sucking on the straw until there was nothing left in the cup and the straw was making that horrible suction noise. Spot released the straw, swallowing all of the milkshake he’d sucked up.

“Can I _help_ you, Jacky boy?” he asked with raised eyebrows and a smirk. It took all of Jack’s restraint not to punch him.

“I asked you a question,” Jack glowered down at him.

Spot leaned back in his chair, asserting his power in the situation.

“I musta missed it,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Something about my boyfriend, David, right?” Jack’s hand curled into a fist at his side. It was one date; that did _not_ make him Davey’s boyfriend. This did not go unnoticed by Spot. 

“What are you doing with him?” Jack asked again, trying not to give Spot the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a nerve.

“It _was_ about my boyfriend?”

“You’ve been on one date, you’re not his boyfriend,” Jack scorned.

Spot shrugged casually. “I don’t know. If you ask him, I think you’ll get a different answer.” Jack opened his mouth to respond but Spot cut him off, leaning forward on the table. “You wanna know what I’m doing with Dave?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Jack growled through clenched teeth. He wished it sounded more sarcastic than earnest, but he seriously wanted to know.

Spot sat back and cocked his head to the side with a smirk.

“Well, after we’s done here, I was thinking of maybe taking him bowling,” he answered matter-of-factly. He paused and locked eyes with Jack. “In Brooklyn.”

Jack tensed up at that information. Davey was here? Why was he here? He had just hung out with Jack and now he was meeting up with Spot? Surely Davey couldn’t have had _such_ a horrible time that he had to go running to Spot immediately…right? Spot was probably just saying that to screw with him. If Davey really was here, then where was he? (Not to mention that it was a school night and David would _never_ go for a late date on a _school night_.)

“That’s not what I meant, Spot, and you know it,” Jack growled, pushing his thoughts about Davey’s location out of his head. “What are you _doing_ with him?

Spot folded his hands on the table and leaned forward again, pressing his weight onto his elbows.

“I have nothing but the most honorable of intentions with Davey, Mrs. Jacobs,” he smiled all-too-sweetly. He shifted so he could do the action as he added, "Cross my heart."

“I ain’t married to him or nothing!” Jack immediately rebutted, feeling his face get hot at the accusation. With anger, obviously.

Spot raised his eyebrows in amusement again.

“Well, _I_ was calling you his mother,” he explained deliberately, as though Jack would be incapable of understanding if he spoke plainly. He gently patted Jack’s hand, his smirk returning in a way that made Jack’s stomach churn. “But it’s good to know where you stand.”

“I don’t ‘stand’ anywhere,” Jack insisted.

“Jack?” asked Davey’s voice. So he _was_ there after all. Jack looked away from Spot as David approached from the bathrooms at the back of the shop. Oh. That made sense.

“Dave,” Jack greeted, trying to hide his surprise.

“What’re you doing here?” Davey asked with a small smile. He casually placed his hand on Spot’s shoulder and Jack grimaced. Davey was never that touchy-feely. He wasn't a touchy-feely person. Spot reached up and placed his hand gently over Davey’s and rubbed his thumb along it, which just made Jack’s stomach churn. He was just doing that to spite Jack.

Jack shook his head and backed away from the table.

“Nothing,” he answered tersely before returning to the line. He was completely done with the couple. He grabbed Crutchie’s arm and dragged him out of the shop before they had even received their ice creams, much to Crutchie’s dismay. That had…not gone as well as Jack had hoped.

Apparently, Spot was not done talking with Jack since he jogged out of the shop after them, calling for them to ‘wait up.’

“Look, I get it, I do,” Spot nodded once he’d caught up to them and forced Jack to stop. “I ain’t from Manhattan so I don’t get your blessing.”

“That ain’t it,” Jack sneered. Spot raised his eyebrows at him and Crutchie gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t not trust you ’cause you’s from Brooklyn. I don’t trust you ’cause you’s Spot Conlon.”

“Jack,” Crutchie tried to interrupt, tugging on Jack’s arm. Jack either didn’t hear him or didn’t care about being stopped before the conversation got out of hand.

“What? Do you think I’m gonna cheat on him?” Spot spat incredulously.

“I dunno,” Jack shrugged. “I don’t know _what_ you’re gonna do to him.”

Spot stepped up to him, glaring into his eyes.

“Here’s a hint, Jacky,” he snarled. “I ain’t gonna do _nothing_ to hurt David. I love him.”

This information seemed to shock all three of them. Crutchie’s jaw fell slack while Jack’s tightened and his shoulders twitched. Spot stepped backwards, his eyes wide like he couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth.

“You _what_?” Jack snarled at him when he regained his voice. It was _one_ date. Spot hesitated in regaining his own, lacing it with false bravado.

“Jaaack,” Crutchie warned, tugging at him again. He could tell this wasn’t going to end well.

“I like him,” Spot shrugged as casually as he could manage, refusing to meet Jack’s gaze. “He’s smart and funny and charismatic and all around a good guy.” He finally managed to look up at Jack. “I mean, who wouldn’t like him?” he asked with a bit of a chuckle.

Jack, sensing that there was some kind of accusatory subtext and lacking any more self-restraint, pulled his arm back and slugged him across the face, sending him to the ground.

“Jack!” Crutchie yelped. “I _think_ we gotta go.” He pulled Jack again, this time succeeding since Jack had decided that he was thoroughly done with everything to do with Spot Conlon.

When they arrived back home and their foster mother jokingly asked where her ice cream was, Jack, still fuming, rushed to his room and Crutchie made up some excuse before limping after his irate brother.


	5. Chapter 5

It was nearing one in the morning and Jack’s knuckles were killing him. Maybe punching Spot Conlon in his smug little face hadn’t been the greatest idea. He started to climb down the bed ladder to get an ice pack from the freezer.

“Hey, Jack?” Crutchie mumbled as Jack got partway down.

“Go back to sleep, Crutchie,” Jack responded, softly touching down on the floor. “I’m just getting some ice.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Crutchie insisted though his yawn indicated that he had been about to crash. Jack hummed skeptically as he headed out the door. “Jack, I-”

But Jack was gone. So Crutchie waited until he returned with his ice pack wrapped in a small towel and had climbed up onto his bed. He heard Jack hiss as he pressed the ice to his hand.

“Jack, I think-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jack cut him off sternly.

Crutchie scoffed. “You have no idea what I was about to say,” he pointed out. He could feel Jack’s glare through the darkness. “I coulda been thinking about aliens.”

“You weren’t,” Jack said decidedly.

“I am _always_ thinking about aliens,” Crutchie corrected.

“Yeah. Sure,” Jack scoffed. 

A lull fell over them that lasted for a few seconds before Crutchie sped through his entire concern. If he spoke fast enough, Jack couldn’t cut him off.

“Jack, I think we gotta talk about you and your feelings for Davey and why you punched Spot in the face.”

Jack blinked into the darkness. He rolled over, spared a glance at their alarm clock, and stared down into the inky abyss, searching for Crutchie’s face.

“Crutchie. It is one oh seven in the morning. I have had a shit day. Don’t make me _think_ in order to talk to you?”

Crutchie sighed and repeated his comment at a more human speed. He considered omitting ‘your feelings for Davey’ but knew they would have to confront it at some point, so he just swapped the order so it was the last thing he said.

“I punched Spot in the face because he was being a dick,” Jack explained. He could feel his chest constrict just remembering the interaction. He clenched his jaw at the accusation that he was anything other than David’s best friend. To be accused by Racetrack was one thing, but his own _brother_? “And I don’t _have_ feelings for Dave.” Crutchie imitated Jack’s skeptical hum from before. “I don’t.”

“Jack, you only got pissed enough to punch him after he basically said you like Dave,” Crutchie pointed out. Jack huffed and started to deny that that ever happened, leaning far over the side of his bed to look at his brother, but Crutchie elaborated. “He looked you straight in the eye and asked ‘who _wouldn’t_ like him?’ And then you punched him in the face.”

“He said he loves Davey!” Jack burst. “And he don’t!”

Crutchie was silent for a long moment before asking softly, “How do you know?”

Jack stammered for a second because he didn’t know how to answer that. He flopped back onto his bed to think about it and he couldn’t do so with all the extra blood rushing around in his head from hanging upside down to even _have_ this conversation. He finally came up with his best argument. 

“I just do! It’s _Spot_! He don’t love anybody! And I am just looking out for Dave. He likes love and all that romantic stuff and finding out that Spot’s messing with him like that-”

“How can you be so sure he _is_ though?” Crutchie countered meekly.

Jack’s jaw dropped at the suggestion. Though he had just settled on his mattress, he leaned over the edge of the bed again.

“How can you _possibly_ say that?” he demanded. “ _You’re_ the one who said he must be doing it as a bet!”

Crutchie shrugged in the darkness.

“I mean, I _did_ say that. But…I don’t know, Jack, he seemed,” he paused, thinking of how to phrase it. “He seemed genuine.”

“He plays poker with Race!” Jack shouted in frustration. “He knows how to bluff! And I can’t believe you think that-”

A knock at their door and then their mother poked her head in, light filtering around her and giving her a heavenly glow.

“Boys, Monday may be my dark night but that does not mean I don’t intend to get as much beauty sleep as possible,” she chided.

“Sorry, Ma,” the boys recited guiltily.

“You don’t need _any_ beauty sleep, Ma,” Jack said charmingly.

“Being honest won’t make me let you stay up longer,” Medda laughed. “You’ve got school,” she reminded them. “Get some sleep and, for the love of God, Jack, stop _screaming_? You’ll wake the whole building.”

 

The next morning at school, Jack was dead tired. He could only truly blame himself for it since he had continued scolding Crutchie in hushed tones about his ideas that both he and Spot were romantically interested in Davey for another half hour after they had been scolded. But he couldn’t help it—both of those accusations were absolutely ridiculous.

“What the _hell_ , Jack?” Davey hissed at Jack as soon as the first class they shared ended.

“Are you allowed to say that if you don’t actually believe in Hell?” Jack pondered, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. 

He gave Davey a wide grin, but it was not reciprocated. David simply sighed.

“Then let me try this again,” he negotiated. “What is _wrong_ with you?” Jack’s face fell. “You don’t like Spot so you punch him in the face?”

“Is that what he told you?” Jack asked in response as they left the classroom and headed down the hall towards the cafeteria. 

“Yeah,” David confirmed with a nod.

“And you _believe_ him?” Jack scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Well, yes,” David nodded again. He had no reason _not_ to believe Spot. “I mean, he’s the one with the bruise.”

“Look, I had a real good reason.”

“And I would love to hear it,” David stated less than enthusiastically. The pair paused in the hall and David pulled them over to the side so they weren’t blocking anyone else’s path. When Jack didn’t answer immediately, he prompted him again.

But what could Jack say? _‘Spot said he loved you but I know he doesn’t so I punched him. You’re welcome’?_ Davey was unlikely to see the chivalric nature in his action and would instead probably focus on the first five words and gush about that for an hour and Jack honestly thought he preferred Davey being mad at him than listening to him spend another breath enthusing over Spot Conlon.

“Okay, that’s what I thought,” David sighed, shaking his head at Jack. He brushed past him towards the cafeteria.

Jack heaved a sigh, watching him go for a second before following after for his lunch.

 

Jack didn’t know why he was surprised when David sat with Spot instead of with the rest of their friends but he was taken aback when he caught sight of him seemingly tending to Spot’s wound. It was purpling nicely and Jack was proud of himself.

“He’s messing with Dave, I know it,” Jack grumbled when Spot leaned his head on Davey’s shoulder. Across from him, Racetrack gave him a look that he elected to ignore.

“Why would he do that?” Specs asked. Jack didn’t have a good answer but luckily, Mush chimed in with his own theory.

“Or maybe they’re just _messing around_ ,” Mush suggested with a waggle of his eyebrows, his mouth full of ham sandwich. That did not make Jack feel any better.

“Dave wouldn’t do that,” he advocated firmly. “He’s not that kinda guy.” 

Then again, he had thought David wasn’t the type of guy that would date Spot in the first place. So what did he know? He spared another glance at them and saw Spot kiss Davey’s forehead. His hand curled into a fist. His knuckles still stung from the last time he had punched Spot but he was sure he could sustain another.


	6. Chapter 6

No matter what happened, Jack was sure that he could always count on Davey to show up to their Wednesday afternoon Tibby’s study session. He sat at their usual booth with their half-veggie, half-pepperoni pizza and breadstick order in front of him, patiently waiting. Ordinarily, they walked together but since Davey had Spot in his life now, Jack had to make the journey alone or be forced to witness the couple being…coupley.

When the bell over the door chimed and Davey walked in, Jack beamed only to have the smile wiped completely off his face when Spot followed.

“What’s he doing here?” Jack demanded, rising to his feet. This was _not_ a part of the deal. He wasn’t supposed to _share_ Davey the few times that he actually still got to have him to himself.

“Oh, simmer down, Jacky,” Spot chided, rolling his eyes. “No need to get _punchy_.” Jack fought to keep the smirk off his face. The bruise was still pretty impressive, at least in his opinion. “I was just walking him.”

“Good,” Jack stated firmly. He returned to his seat only a little morosely. "Bye."

“Bye, babe,” Spot said, standing on his toes and pressing a chaste kiss to David’s lips. 

Jack felt his hand curl into a fist and he busied himself searching his backpack for a notebook or pencils or anything that meant he wouldn’t have to _look_ at that. He couldn’t imagine how Davey could possibly _enjoy_ that.

Luckily, David had enough common sense to realize that they were being completely _indecent_ in a public place and pulled away. Jack convinced himself he imagined that small smile on his face as he rested his forehead against Spot’s. Disgusting.

Finally, Spot disappeared and Davey sat down across from Jack. There was a brief pause as David searched in his backpack for the materials for today’s study session.

“So, what’re we working on today, Jack?” Davey asked, pulling his Algebra book from his bag at the same time that Jack tersely noted that “That seems to be going well.”

They fell into an awkward silence before David nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he nodded before returning to his strictly-business demeanor. He opened the book to the chapter they had been working on the previous week. “Algebra or…your Denton essay is due tomorrow, right? I can take a look at it.”

Jack frowned at him. They hadn’t really spoken since Monday and that interaction had ended rather poorly. He just wished Davey would smile at _him_ again.

“C’mon, Dave,” he groaned. “You ain’t still mad at me, right? I sent you like thirty texts saying I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” Davey confirmed without looking at Jack. “Did you want me to-”

“‘You’re not mad, you’re just disappointed,’ right?” Jack teased. Davey didn’t seem to be in the mood since he fixed Jack with another steely gaze. “Hey, everything okay?” 

David didn’t respond for a few seconds and Jack had to ask two more times to get anything more than an ambivalent shrug out of him.

“Jack, you punched my boyfriend in the face and you didn’t even have a reason,” the explanation finally burst forth. “I mean, it would be one thing if-”

“What is _that_?” Jack interrupted, narrowing his eyes at David. At first he thought he had imagined the darkened mark hiding beneath Davey’s collar.

“What’s what?” Davey repeated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” However, the way that he subconsciously fixed his collar indicated that he knew _exactly_ what Jack was talking about.

“Move your hand,” Jack commanded with a jerk of his head. 

Davey sluggishly obeyed, craning his neck slightly to keep the reddish-brown mark hidden. Jack frowned and took matters into his own hands. He leaned across the table and tore Davey’s collar aside. He didn’t know what he was expecting it to be but he still slumped back down with a defeated, “Jesus Christ, Dave,” burying his head in his hands.

“Jack, I-” Davey started to explain (though, why should he _have_ to explain it at all? It was _his_ life and _his_ boyfriend and _his_ neck) but Jack waved him aside.

“You ain’t even been with him a _week_ and you let him—” Jack didn’t want to think about what they had been doing that led to Spot leaving that mark on Davey’s neck. He sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. He forced himself to laugh about it. It was just too absurd. He stared above Davey’s head as though the answer to his awe was written on the wall. He could barely comprehend what he was seeing. “David Jacobs…is easy?”

David slammed his textbook shut with a faint thud, a blush rising to his face at the accusation.

“Alright, what is your _problem_ , Jack? First you can’t even be happy for me, then you basically tell me that you couldn’t care less, then you punch Spot, and now you’re-”

“He’s using you, Dave!”

The shout had attracted the attention of the few other customers that were in Tibby’s and David leaned across the table and lowered his voice, preferring not to draw any more eyes their way.

“For _what_?” he asked. “I don’t have anything to be used _for_!”

“I don’t know yet, but he is,” Jack insisted. David was unconvinced. “I mean, at first I thought it might be a dare or a bet-”

“Oh yeah, because nobody could ever _actually_ like me, is that right?”

“I didn’t say that Dave!”

“You didn’t have to.” Davey took a deep breath and then continued just as fiercely. He crossed his arms across his chest sternly. “Well, what do you think it is now?”

“Honestly?” Davey nodded though he was sure he didn't actually want to know what Jack thought. “I think he’s just trying to get into your pants. Just to prove he can ’cause nobody else seems to have gotten the privilege.”

“Nobody else seems to have _tried_ ,” David hissed back.

Jack either didn’t hear him or ignored him as he pressed on. “And you seem to be having a grand old time _letting_ him prove it.”

Jack waited for Davey to lash out at him for the accusation, but instead he just sat there stoically. It was almost worse this way, waiting for some kind of reaction. 

It felt like hours of silence before he finally got one, soft and hurt. Betrayed.

“Why are you trying to ruin this for me?”

“I ain’t trying to ruin anything, Dave,” Jack wanted to reach out but he knew that Davey wouldn’t accept his hand. Not after everything he had just said. “I’m just trying to…I don’t know. Protect you?”

Davey scoffed at this revelation. “I don’t need your protection, Jack. I’m doing just fine.”

He grabbed his book off the table and his bag off the bench and stood up. Before he could get away, Jack mimicked him and grabbed his arm, preventing him from getting any further.

“Let go, Jack.”

“Just answer me one thing,” Jack negotiated. Davey’s eyes bore holes in him. “Why Spot Conlon? Of _all_ people, why Spot Conlon?” Davey just shrugged. “Nah. Nah, you don’t get to do that. That ain’t how this works. Considering you got a hickey the size of Manhattan on your neck, I think you at least owe me that.”

Davey blinked at him in absolute confusion, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I _owe_ you?” he repeated. “You punched my boyfriend in the face and _I_ owe _you_?”

“You’ve completely forgotten that you got other friends besides Spot Conlon so yeah, you do,” Jack fired back. Davey opened his mouth to offer a retort with evidence proving Jack wrong but Jack barreled on. “All you got to do is tell me why you’re with him and I won’t bug you about it no more.”

David took a deep breath and looked Jack square in the eyes, considering this proposition. The seconds ticked by slowly as he just stood there silently.

“Do you even _like_ him?” Jack asked. It had to have been at least ten seconds of silence with no indication that Davey was ever going to speak about what made Spot Conlon so great and wonderful. Again, there was no answer.

“Then _why_ are you dating him? Why are you-” Jack gestured to Davey’s neck with an aggressive sound—he refused to give a verb to what they had done. “-ing him? I just…I just don’t get it, Dave? Why _him_?”

“Because he asked!” Davey exploded, his volume and tone surprising even him. Jack let go of his arm in shock. Davey glanced around at the other customers and decided that he had been too much of a public spectacle. “I’ve got to go.”

Davey huffed and made his way out of Tibby’s. Jack followed, abandoning their untouched food and his backpack.

He caught up to Davey and forced him to turn around. He vaguely recalled that the last interaction he’d had that started by stopping someone on the sidewalk ended with a punch to the face. The only reason he was sure this one wouldn’t was because Davey wasn’t violent.

“‘He asked?’” Jack repeated. He must have heard that wrong. “What, so just the first guy to ask, you jump at?” He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why his chest felt tight. He didn’t understand how Davey could do that. He shook his head in disbelief. “No consideration for anyone else who might wanna-”

Davey laughed out loud. “Because I’m just rolling in the invitations, right?” He huffed out a breath and said more calmly, “So Spot asked me out and I said yes. It’s not a big deal, Jack. If somebody el-”

“It actually _is_ a big deal, Dave,” Jack cut him off snidely. “You don’t even _like_ him and you’re going out with him because he asked you out before anyone else could.”

“You keep talking about this person who was going to ask me out but there’s no evidence of him existing so, sorry to him but his window has closed.”

“You don’t even like the guy, though! But you’re going out with him anyway just ’cause it’s first come first serve. That’s what a slut does, Dave.”

David all but physically recoiled from the word. It shot iciness through his veins and incited a churning in his stomach that made him want to vomit. Perhaps he was going to; his throat felt tight. He could see Jack’s lips moving as he tried to take back what he had just said but the blood rushing around in head was deafening.

“So now I’m easy _and_ a slut?” he echoed, cutting Jack off, striving to keep his voice even.

“No, I-Davey, that’s not what I-”

“You know what, Jack? I’m _so_ glad you caught up with me to tell me that,” Davey huffed at him and stalked away, ignoring Jack calling his name.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack stormed into the apartment, swearing tumultuously and carelessly. Even when his mother called to him to watch his language, he just continued at a lower volume. He barged into his bedroom, slammed the door shut behind him, and flung his backpack onto the floor, breathing heavily. Once there, he just stood helplessly. He wanted to…something. He was at a total loss of what he was supposed to do in order to cope with this. He had just driven his best friend away—probably right into Spot’s more than willing arms, he reminded himself bitterly—and was probably never going to repair their friendship and everything was going to absolute shit and it was all his fault and he didn’t even know why he’d done any of it.

 

_“I figured this was gonna be another ‘I’m in love with Davey’ speech so I just kinda tuned you out.”_

_“You only got pissed enough to punch him after he basically said you like Dave.”_

 

He figured out what he wanted to do. He wanted to destroy something. Anything, really. He spied his sketchbook on the bedside table and grabbed it.

The first thing to go were his character studies featuring Davey: Davey’s eyes, Davey’s profile, Davey’s hair, Davey laughing, anything Davey. These were torn from the book and then torn into pieces. He scattered the scraps around the room, throwing them with too much force for the light fluttering effect it created. Frustrated with the lack of destruction in the paper, he grabbed a painting from the wall—the skyline at dusk as seen from the roof of Davey’s apartment building—and punched a hole through it. He let out a cry when he hit the middle support of the canvas frame.

He didn’t get too much further in his rampage because his foster mother came hurrying in to see what all the fuss was about.

“Jack!”

Behind her, he could see a very concerned Crutchie hobbling towards their room. Medda turned back around and shook her head at him. Whatever Jack was going through, he didn’t need any more of an audience. There was the dull thud of his crutch hitting the floor as he walked away.

“Sorry, Ma,” Jack recited, lowering his head.

“Honey, what is _going on_?” she asked him, coming further into his room and closing the door behind her.

“It’s nothing, Ma,” Jack assured her with a charming smile and a shake of his head. He didn’t want his mother to worry though it was clear she already was. She tutted at his lie.

“It’s not nothing and we all know it,” she pointed out. “You haven’t been yourself in at least a week.”

She gently placed her hands on his shoulders and led him to Crutchie’s bed, sitting him down on it. Jack fixed his gaze on his knees. Medda stroked his upper back and smiled sweetly, hoping to prompt some kind of explanation out of him.

“Ma, you don’t need to-”

“I’m worried about you, Jack,” Medda interrupted. “Your brother’s worried about you. What is it?”

They sat in silence, a far more comfortable silence than those he had experienced with Davey less than an hour earlier. Jack took a deep breath and looked up at his mother.

“I fucked up, Ma,” he confessed, leaning his head on her shoulder. Though Medda hardly approved of that kind of language, now wasn’t the time to scold him about it. “I fucked up real bad. I was just trying to help Davey out and I just fucked everything up and now he doesn’t ever want to talk to me again.”

“Baby, now I’m sure that’s not true,” Medda promised, bringing her hand to Jack’s hair. “You and Davey have been just about inseparable since the day you met.”

Jack nodded sadly, mourning the loss of his five-year friendship with Davey. If he could have just kept his opinions to himself, he would still have a best friend. (He could practically hear all of his friends laughing at the thought that Jack Kelly would be able to keep his thoughts to himself.)

“No, Ma, it _is_ true,” Jack explained. “I got mad at him and said things I shouldn’t have and now he hates me.”

“Why did you get so mad at him?”

Jack didn’t answer and looked pointedly at his knees again. Medda sighed, resigning herself to the fact that her son was not going to tell her any _more_ information about what had transpired between them.

“Look, you can’t undo the past,” she said gently. “But you _can_ learn from it. And you can apologize. Whatever happened between you and David will pass.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Jack said. He really didn’t believe that. Unless Spot did something drastic like reveal the whole thing had been a joke—which seemed highly unlikely since he claimed to ‘love’ him—there was no way he could imagine Davey getting over this.

Medda pressed a kiss to his forehead and reminded him that he could _always_ talk to her about anything. As she stood to leave, she noticed the broken painting and picked it up.

“Aw, honey,” she frowned at the gaping hole. She turned back to Jack and gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s okay. You can always paint another one.”

Jack doubted he would ever get to go to the Jacobs’ place to have the skyline for reference again, but he just nodded and smiled after her.

Once she had left, Jack grabbed his phone out of his bag and typed out a message to Davey.

 

From: Jack  
I didn’t mean to make you mad Dave or hurt you and I’m really sorry for what I called you I don’t know what I was thinking I wasn’t thinking I am so sorry Dave I am you’re not a slur and I never should have said you were I am SO sorry Davey

 

He stared at the message and climbed up onto his bed, keeping the phone close beside him. He hoped to sleep for a million years until Spot Conlon no longer existed and Davey wasn’t mad at him and people didn’t think he was in love with his ex-best friend. He punched the pillow a few times and buried his face into it.

 

Jack hadn’t expected to actually fall asleep and he didn’t know how long he actually slept for, but it was hardly restful. His brain was plagued with disgusting images stemming from that damn hickey. Absolutely revolting thoughts of Spot pressing Davey into his mattress, frantically mouthing at any part of him that he could; loathsome visions of Davey all-too-eagerly accepting it, complete with sickening flirtations.

Jack woke up even angrier than he had fallen asleep. He slowly climbed down off his bunk because he had to…destroy more things or punch the wall or go for a walk or something.

“Feel better, Sleeping Beauty?” Crutchie asked lightly, effectively giving Jack a heart attack and causing him to slip off the second-to-last rung.

“Jesus Christ, Crutchie,” Jack groaned, shaking out his pained foot. “Warn a guy, maybe.”

“That I’m in my own bedroom?” Crutchie asked, trying not to sound amused. Jack gave him a pointed look. “I uh, came in about an hour ago and you were dead out.”

Jack nodded absently and reached for his phone before remembering it was still on his bed. He climbed a couple rungs and reached for it, hoping to find Davey’s response. He had a couple of texts and a missed call but they were all from Katherine, all asking about what the hell he had been thinking.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” he stated.

“But it’s almost dinner time,” Crutchie pointed out with a frown.

“Ma’ll understand,” Jack assured him. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

“Get where?” Crutchie asked, swinging his legs off his bed with sudden urgency. “Where are you _going_?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jack said. “Maybe Kath’s, probably Kath’s. But I don’t know.” He grabbed a jacket off the floor and headed out the bedroom door before Crutchie could follow after him.

He called to Medda that he loved her and that he was going to go out for a bit. She warned that he was going to miss dinner and he asked if she could save something for him before disappearing into the street.

He finally texted Katherine back, stating that he was on his way over. He hesitated for only a moment before creating a new conversation.

 

To: Spot Conlon  
He doesn’t even like you


	8. Chapter 8

Jack ignored the constant buzzing in his pocket as he made his way uptown; he knew that it was just Spot telling him to stay out of his relationship and he secretly appreciated the fact that if Spot could be texting him so much then his hands weren’t other places…like on Davey. The first time that he even removed it was when he was at Katherine’s door, and that was just to text his brother his location. He grinned at the twenty messages Spot had left before raising his hand and knocking on the door.

Katherine’s father opened it with a frown that seemed only to deepen when he laid eyes on Jack.

“Mister Kelly,” he greeted tersely.

“Good evening, Mr. Pulitzer,” Jack replied with as much smarminess as he could manage.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Pulitzer sighed, already exhausted of dealing with Jack after only three seconds. That was a new record.

His daughter appeared at his shoulder, side-eyeing her father.

“I invited him,” Katherine lied smoothly. She knew that the truth would not sit well with her father. Remembering the time, she added, “For dinner.”

Pulitzer’s expression seemed to sour even further.

“And what about that other boy?” he questioned. Jack’s eyebrows raised and Katherine’s eyes darted between her friend and her father.

She hesitated for only a second before explaining that “He just went home.”

“Shame. I like that one better,” Pulitzer stated before moving aside just enough for Katherine to grab Jack and pull him into their home. Jack gave Pulitzer a forced smile as he passed him.

Katherine dragged Jack all the way up to her bedroom room, her skirt fluttering and her ponytail bouncing as she did.

“You know, I always forget how loaded you are,” Jack commented as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

“Your mom does eight shows a week,” Katherine reminded him.

“Yeah, and we live in an apartment with ridiculous rent. Not a _mansion_ that’s been paid off,” Jack snorted as they reached her room. 

Once inside, he immediately flopped onto her lavish bed that was decked out with at least four pillows of varying sizes. He loved Katherine’s bed because it was one that could easily fit four people, maybe five if they all squished. He always suggested that they have sleepovers there but they all knew that Pulitzer would rather die than allow the majority of Katherine’s friends into his home much less into his daughter’s bedroom.

“It’s not a mansion, it’s a townhouse,” Katherine scoffed, leaving the door open several inches. Jack cocked his head at the practice. “What? Dad doesn’t trust me alone with boys up here.”

Jack bit his lower lip but raised his eyebrows. Katherine caught sight of the expression and placed her hands on her hips.

“What, are you going to slut-shame _me_ now, Kelly?” Katherine accused.

Jack blanched at her, suddenly feeling self-conscious and small under her gaze.

“Oh. So it was Davey,” he realized under his breath. That was the other boy Katherine had hosted.

Katherine quirked an eyebrow at him as she slowly said “Yes. How did you think I knew to text you about it in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” Jack shrugged. “Gay magic?”

Judging by the furtive glance Katherine shot towards her open door, Jack guessed that Katherine wasn’t out to her family yet. He pressed his index finger to his lips to indicate that he would be quiet about that starting right then.

“Look, you don’t have the context,” he tried to bargain as she pulled her desk chair out and sat across from him with her arms folded. Suddenly, this felt a lot more like an interrogation than the comfort session he had sought out.

“Davey’s with Spot and you’re jealous, it’s not rocket science,” Katherine stated simply, unimpressed with his argument.

Jack sat up straight and shook his head.

“I ain’t _jealous_ ,” he insisted and he pointedly ignored her rolling her eyes. “I’m looking out for him.”

“By punching his boyfriend in the face and calling him a slut?” Katherine asked deliberately.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Jack grumbled to himself. He could see how that might, objectively, from an outside perspective, look like he was jealous and lashing out about it. That wasn’t the case at all, but he could understand why someone like Katherine would draw that conclusion. “But I had good reasons!”

“I’m sure you did,” Katherine nodded in a way that proved she had no faith he had good reasons at all.

“Spot was being a dick-”

“How?” Katherine asked, leaning forward.

“He…” Jack was acutely aware of how the truth would play out. It would just add to the evidence against him and he didn’t want to throw any more kindling on _that_ fire, so he simply said, “He was lying about his and Davey’s relationship and I just…I just punched him.”

Katherine nodded slowly with narrowed eyes. Before she could call him out on his accuracy, he pressed forward to his next good reason.

“And Davey…he doesn’t even _like_ Spot but he’s letting him do…” he swallowed his metaphorical vomit, “ _things_ to him.”

Katherine bit her lip and shifted her weight in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. This went unnoticed by Jack who was too focused in his rage against Spot and had started to pace around her room.

“I’m sure he likes Spot at least a little,” she offered meekly, pulling him out of his grumbling rant. Jack whipped around from where he stood by her window and stalked over to her, shaking his head fiercely. Katherine shrank a little in her seat.

“Nah, I asked why he was with him and he couldn’t come up with _anything_ good about him,” Jack laughed, still in disbelief of what had happened. An intrusive thought suggested a reason that Davey might enjoy Spot’s company in spite of not actually liking him but Jack shook his head to rid himself of it, really preferring _not_ to think about it. He simply pressed on. “Which I thought he’d’ve told you seeing as he was here.”

“I mean…” Katherine shrugged. “Kind of.”

“‘Kind of?’” Jack repeated scornfully. “What does that mean? ‘Kind of?’”

“It means,” Katherine countered, sitting up straighter, “that yes, he mentioned that he’s not exactly in love with Spot but that I didn’t think much of it because I figured that it’s just a product of his being hung up on…” She was on her feet now and almost chest-to-chest with Jack. But she stepped back and diverted her gaze, suddenly finding her carpet _very_ interesting. “um. Somebody else.”

Jack cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Kath,” he started, needing to know, but she just shook her head and claimed that it wasn’t her secret to tell. In response, he dramatically flopped onto her bed again.

“Then why _mention_ it?” he whined. He grabbed one of her pillows and held it over his face.

Katherine heaved a sigh and sat next to him. She first pried the pillow off of his face, informing him that he would suffocate if he kept smothering himself like that. Jack rolled onto his side but kept a tight hold of the pillow, hugging it to his chest and pouting at her.

Then she laid down beside him and said, “Look, I thought I was helping him.” Jack glared at her.

“ _You? You_ set him up with Spot? What, are you the worst wingman ever or something?” he accused.

“No, I did not set him up with _anybody_ ,” Katherine glared right back. “I just told him that, if Somebody Else didn’t seem to show any interest in him, then he…might want to consider moving on. He was just going to keep torturing himself with pining if he didn’t. I didn’t think that he would take that to mean accept the first offer that comes along…”

The pair of them sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence that was interrupted by a slightly nasally female voice from downstairs telling Katherine that dinner was ready. Katherine shouted back her thanks but made no motion to move as Jack sat up.

“C’mon, you heard your mom,” he prompted, needling her side.

“Step-mom,” Katherine corrected lazily.

Jack tugged on her arms, getting her into a sitting position, and then pushed her towards the edge of the bed. She groaned but did get up. 

On her short walk from her bed to the door, Jack asked, “So uh…who’s ‘Somebody Else?’”

Katherine turned and fixed him with an almost pitying glance.

“Who do you think?”


	9. Chapter 9

“So, how was dinner with the Pulitzers?” Crutchie teased over his laptop when his brother returned to their bedroom. He was already in his pajamas even though it wasn’t even nine. “You missed Mom’s ravioli. She might’ve saved some though.”

“I think Davey liked me,” Jack stated, completely ignoring Crutchie’s question in favor of his own more important statement.

“O…kay. So, how was dinner?” Crutchie didn’t seem at all surprised by this revelation. 

Jack thought he must not have heard correctly, so he repeated it a little louder and with more deliberation.

“Ow, yeah, I heard,” Crutchie said, inserting his index finger into his ear though Jack’s volume had not been nearly enough to cause any damage. “What’s with the yelling?”

“No, I think Davey _liked_ me,” Jack reiterated, concerned that maybe he hadn’t been clear enough. Obviously Davey had liked him, they were friends, they had to like each other at least a little bit.

Crutchie just looked at him blankly and shrugged.

“A little surprise here would be appreciated,” Jack informed him. Crutchie gasped over dramatically, clutching his hand to his heart. “Alright, I said surprise, not melodrama.”

Crutchie snorted at that. Jack was the most melodramatic person he had ever met. And he had met Racetrack.

“I don’t really know what you want me to say here, Jack,” Crutchie shrugged with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

Jack shrugged. He too was at a loss. He wanted Crutchie to explain how he and apparently everyone else had spotted Davey’s crush on him. He wanted Crutchie to tell him why none of them had thought to inform him. He wanted Crutchie’s advice on how to proceed now that he had this information—should he confront Davey with it or would that just make him defensive? Would Davey even _want_ to talk to him right now?

“Me neither, Crutch,” he sighed.

They both fell silent for a few seconds and Jack noticed for the first time that all of the paper he had impulsively left scattered around the floor had been removed.

“Oh, Jack, before I forget-”

“Hey, uh, where’s all the paper that was here?” Jack turned around, gesturing to the floor. He wasn’t entirely sure what his intention was but he figured that if he couldn’t patch things up with the real Davey, he might as well repair his images.

Crutchie shrank a little, closing his laptop and setting it beside him.

“I picked it up,” he explained meekly. “I'm sorry, I didn’t-”

Jack swore and punched the wall. He shook his hand out and stretched his fingers. He really needed to stop punching things until his hand healed from hitting Spot’s face.

“I’m sorry; I thought you were done with it all,” Crutchie rushed to continue. “I mean, it was on the floor and all torn up and everything, and…” He brightened up suddenly, grabbed his crutch and hobbled towards their door. “You know, it might still be in the garbage! I can-”

“No, Crutchie, it’s okay,” Jack sighed in defeat. He could just redo the drawings. Practice _did_ make perfect after all.

“I’m real sorry, Jack,” Crutchie apologized, swiveling back around. “I didn’t know it was important. I’m _really_ sorry.”

Jack just shrugged and leaned against their bed. The pictures hadn't been important when he had torn them up hours ago.

“It’s fine,” he sighed. “You didn’t know.” He took a deep breath and clapped his hands together, trying to appear normal. “What were you gonna tell me?”

Crutchie knitted his brows together, apparently having forgotten his own announcement in the midst of the search for the drawing scraps.

“You said you had to tell me something before you forgot?” Jack prompted.

“Oh yeah!” Crutchie nodded enthusiastically before biting his lower lip and lowering his gaze to the floor. He maintained this physicality as he passed Jack and returned to his bed. “Spot texted me and told me to tell you to ‘stay the eff out of his love life.’”

“He texted _you_?” Jack repeated defensively. Crutchie was innocent in all of this and did not deserve to be dragged into it any more than he already had been simply by being Jack’s brother.

“He said you weren’t answering your texts,” Crutchie shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s usually how ignoring someone goes,” Jack nodded. “I turned off my phone after I texted you at Kath’s because he was blowing it up.”

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it back on. As it rebooted, he grabbed his sketchbook and pencils from the table and climbed up to his bed to start reconstructing the destroyed pictures.

Once he settled in and opened to a fresh page to warm up before drawing again, he unlocked his phone and opened his messages. Along with about forty from Spot telling him to stay out of his business, there was a text from Katherine asking if he got home safely (he shot a quick message saying that he did), and a string of messages from Davey. He immediately opened it, his breath hitching slightly.

 

From: Davey Jacobs  
WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

 

Jack wasn’t entirely sure why he had hoped it would be a good message, especially considering how their previous interaction had ended, but his stomach still flipped and his blood ran cold.

 

From: Davey Jacobs  
JACK.

From: Davey Jacobs  
WHY WOULD YOU TELL HIM THAT?

 

So, Spot had confronted Davey about the fact that his feelings weren’t requited. Jack had no idea how that went down but he supposed it wasn’t good since Davey was texting him in all caps. Davey hardly ever used all caps, preferring proper lettering even in his texts.

 _Maybe they broke up_ , part of his brain suggested hopefully.

 _“What, and then he’ll go back to you?”_ a skeptical part asked in Katherine’s voice. _“You do remember that you called him a **slut** , right? That's not exactly a turn-on.”_

Jack grimaced. He already hated that he had said that—probably not as much as Davey hated it—so he didn’t need to be reminded of it every time he thought about his and Davey’s friendship.

 

From: Davey Jacobs  
ANSWER me, Jack.

 

That was the last message Davey had sent. Jack stared at the phone and thought, _I’ll do him one better_ as he pressed the call button at the top of the screen.


	10. Chapter 10

Jack’s heart thudded hard against his chest as the phone rang. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should have just texted. He stared at the screen wondering if it was too late to hang up and negate the call ever happening in the first place. He wasn’t sure what he would do or say if Davey actually picked up. He wasn’t even sure if Davey actually _would_ pick up at all. He felt sick.

 _“See, this is when you need impulse control,”_ sang part of his brain that, of all people, sounded like Racetrack, the King of Impulsive Decisions. Jack decided that his own brain was mocking him.

Jack groaned, his thumb hovering over the red button to hang up when he heard Davey’s voice on the other end.

“Hi, you’ve reached David Jacobs,” Jack breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the real Davey, just a recording. “Unfortunately, I’m not-”

Jack hung up before he would be asked to leave a message. He laid back on his bed and breathed a sigh of relief, his heart feeling at least ten thousand times lighter. Now he had time to come up with what he wanted to say, why he told Spot that Davey didn’t even like him, aside from it being true. 

On top of that, if Davey questioned it when he saw that he had a missed call, Jack could potentially say that it was just a butt-dial since, without a message, Davey would have no proof that he was calling in regard to the texts he had just received. Hell, he hadn’t even been there to receive the call.

 _Unless he actually **was** there and just let it go to voicemail because he didn’t want to talk anymore,_ Jack realized and he slammed his head into his mattress. But Davey wouldn’t do that, not after he had yelled at Jack for answers. Then again, he didn’t know Davey at all these days so maybe he would.

“You okay up there?” Crutchie asked from his bunk.

“No,” Jack groaned his reply. He figured that Crutchie would see through him lying anyway so there was no use in it.

“Anything I can do to help?” Crutchie asked. He doubted it, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Not unless you can kill Spot,” Jack sighed. He didn’t even want Spot _dead_ , just away from Davey.

Crutchie laughed and shook his head at Jack’s ridiculous request.

“That’d just make Davey even madder at you,” he pointed out.

Jack groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. He stayed there for several seconds, wishing everything back to how it had been a week before, before Spot Conlon waltzed in and ruined his life.

“Did you do your Denton essay that’s due tomorrow?” Crutchie asked suddenly.

“What? Yeah,” Jack dismissed Crutchie’s concern. “Solid B minus work if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, okay,” Crutchie responded absently. “Good. Proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Jack grumbled. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Crutchie’s concern, but Davey was the one who always looked out for Jack’s schoolwork, like the mother hen he was.

Jack stared at his phone for what felt like an hour, trying to determine what to say to Davey. He wasn’t even sure if Davey would answer his text but he wanted to at least try.

 

From: Jack  
Sorry. Hope

 

“Did you have any other homework?” Crutchie asked, interrupting Jack’s typing.

“Nah,” Jack replied with a vacant nod. He blinked in confusion and leaned over his bed. “Since when did you become Davey?”

Crutchie looked up at him and shrugged.

“Can’t I look out for my little brother?” he asked with a smile.

“You are barely a month older than me,” Jack pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “And I ain’t _little_.”

Jack pouted down at him and Crutchie laughed, swatting playfully at his head.

“Just because you hit like ten growth spurts doesn’t mean you ain’t my little brother,” he teased. “Besides, you look out for me and my leg so it’s only fair I look out for you and your grades.”

“Art school doesn’t care about _grades_ ,” Jack bemoaned, rolling back onto his bed.

“I’m pretty sure all schools care bout _grades_ , Jack, art or otherwise,” Crutchie laughed. “Plus, if you keep destroying your paintings, you won’t have anything for a portfolio.”

Jack clenched his teeth and stretched his fingers, remembering his destruction from earlier that day. He hummed in agreement but silently mourned the loss of one of his better paintings. He should have thought that through earlier. He turned his attention back to his phone and continued typing.

 

From: Jack  
Sorry. Hope that didn’t ruin anything.

 

That was a lie. He hoped that Davey and Spot had had a fight and that Davey confessed that he felt nothing for Spot and that Spot was heartbroken and that they broke up. That was what he hoped. It was the only acceptable resolution. But Davey didn’t need to know that so he sent the message as it was.

“Hey, Jack?” Crutchie yawned. “D’you mind if I turn out the light? I’m getting pretty sleepy.”

“Nah, I’ll get it,” Jack said. “I gotta change anyway.”

He climbed down and changed before reaching out to hit the light switch. He paused a moment when he spied the destroyed painting. He stared at it regretfully. 

“Thanks, Jack,” Crutchie smiled at him through the bedposts.

“No problem, Crutch,” Jack nodded. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

Jack lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, silently hoping for any message from Davey, any acknowledgment that Jack wasn’t dead to him. If the roles had been reversed, he wasn’t sure that Davey wouldn’t be dead to him and his chest seized up. He just wanted to time travel back several hours and not say the stupid things that had barely passed through his brain before passing through his lips. He flopped over onto his stomach as though that would make the queasiness stop.

“Hey Jack?” Crutchie asked softly.

“What,” Jack grumbled, muffled by his mattress.

“Everything’s gonna be okay with you and Davey.”

“Thanks, Crutchie,” Jack replied though he sincerely doubted that.

Jack rolled back over to check his phone again. Still nothing. His latest message hadn’t even been opened. He continued this pattern of reliving the moment in Tibby’s, trying to reconstruct what happened with what he _should _have said, and then checking his phone only to see no change. By the time he had fallen asleep, he had still received nothing. He would have to find Davey at school the next day and make sure he knew just how sorry he was for what he said.__


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Jack had received no new messages, but at least Davey had finally opened his text. It was fine, everything was fine. He would just stick with his plan to talk to Davey at school and apologize for any problems he had caused—either in Davey’s relationship with Spot, which he didn’t care about, or in their friendship, which he did.

Or he would have, had he seen Davey anywhere in the hallways at school. All morning, Jack gave him the benefit of the doubt and presumed he had overslept, which wasn’t at all like him but also wasn’t cause to sound any alarms. When he was missing from their American Lit class, _that_ was concerning. Jack spent the entire class period thinking of reasons Davey might not be there. He first considered illness but Davey hadn’t been coming down with anything when they met up at Tibby’s. Jack’s stomach churned as he had to take into account the possibility that their conversation in the restaurant had something to do with it. He shook his head. That was ridiculous. Davey wasn’t sensitive enough to let something that Jack had apologized for keep him from his education.

At lunch, Jack appreciated not having to watch Spot hang all over Davey but he still worried about his friend. He spent a minute just staring at the empty seat beside Spot, as if looking where Davey _should_ be would make him magically appear, and ignoring that Spot kept glaring at him like it was _his_ fault Davey was missing. Obviously it wasn’t and there was a different, probably Spot-related reason for Davey’s absence.

“Hey, Jack? Helloooo? Earth to Jack Kelly?” Race all but waved his hand in front of Jack’s face to get his attention.

“Sorry, what?” Jack asked, coming back to his senses.

“Are you okay, Jack?” Specs asked, leaning across the table. “You’ve been really out of it since you got here.”

“Davey’s not here,” Jack said with a shrug.

Albert and Race “ooh”ed at him, incredibly maturely.

“One guess _why_ ,” Mush added, raising his eyebrows suggestively, inserting one index finger into his other fist. Jack’s blood ran cold at the implication. That was impossible. It was just impossible.

“Shut up,” Racetrack snapped, glaring at Mush. “That _ain’t_ why.”

“He could just be sick,” Jack suggested, a hint of hope in his voice. Davey wouldn’t do that. He just wouldn’t. No matter how much he had changed over the course of one week, no matter how much he had let Spot get away with, he would _not_ do that.

_Unless he took that ‘slut’ comment to heart,_ his brain supplied. _Go big or go home._

Jack looked back over to Davey’s empty seat at the same time that Spot was throwing another glare his way and they locked eyes. They both shook their heads, blaming each other for Davey’s absence.

Jack sent him a text asking if he was okay and if he needed Jack to bring him anything, but he should have known that Davey wouldn’t respond to him. Somehow, he had still managed to hope.

 

Jack was sure that Davey would be back on Friday, at the very least to collect the homework he had missed by being absent the day before. Unfortunately, he was wrong. Davey was nowhere to be seen and Jack was getting really worried.

“Wow, _two_ days?” Mush whistled when he noticed Davey’s empty place beside Spot in the cafeteria. “Must’ve been some great dicking.”

“Have you ever considered shutting the fuck up?” Race barked at him. “That ain’t what happened and you know it.”

“Oh yeah? How do _you_ know what happened? ” Mush shot back. “Were you there too?”

“Because he wouldn’t do that,” Race sneered like it should be obvious. Mush quirked a brow at Race, not sure which ‘he’ he was talking about. Jack suddenly stood up, having had enough of listening to Mush’s theory.

“You want to know what happened?” he asked around the table. He got some nods and a couple of verbal responses and that was all it took to send Jack over to Spot’s table.

“What do you want, Kelly?” Spot demanded with a glare.

“Look, I ain’t here to antagonize,” Jack held his hands up in surrender as he sat down opposite of Spot.

“Oh-ho, nice vocabulary word. What, did Davey teach you that one?” Spot sarcastically applauded.

“I just want to talk.”

Spot raised his brows skeptically, but Jack just shrugged and looked at him peacefully.

“Fine,” Spot finally conceded.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Davey?” Jack asked immediately upon being granted permission to speak. He hated how desperate he sounded but he was worried. The only other time he had ever known Davey to be absent for more than one day in a row was when he had come down with a minor case of bronchitis in tenth grade. Spot narrowed his eyes at Jack and opened his mouth, probably to say that nothing was _wrong_ with his boyfriend, but Jack didn’t allow him the opportunity. “Is he sick or something?”

“Yeah,” Spot nodded slowly. He looked Jack in the eye and stated flatly, “Sick of you and your bullshit.” Jack opened his mouth to retort, but Spot continued. “You think you’ve got some sort of claim on him? Like he ain’t allowed to do anything without consulting you first because you may not like who he’s hanging out with?”

“No!” Jack protested. He came here to see if Davey was physically injured, not to be attacked. “That’s not-”

“’Cause that’s exactly what you’re doing here, Kelly. The second you don’t have him all to yourself, you start throwing punches and name-calling,” Spot growled. “Or did you think that my ‘slutty’ boyfriend is too busy throwing himself at me to actually talk? You know, like couples do.”

Jack’s face flared up. It had been bad enough that Katherine knew what he’d said, but Spot did too and that was the worst possibility. He would surely use it for some kind of blackmail or other nefarious purpose.

“So you’ll talk about _that_ , but not about the fact that he _doesn’t like you,_ ” Jack accused, the only chip he could play. “At all. He told me.”

“You know, I mentioned it and we were gonna get there, but _amazingly_ you took up most of our time.” That happened more frequently than Spot would ever admit to Jack’s face since Jack tended to be one of Davey’s favorite subjects, though Spot was sure Davey hadn’t even noticed. He paused a second, recounting how this particular meeting had gone. “By the time he stopped _crying_ over you, it was dark and I wasn’t gonna let him go back to Manhattan alone, so he stayed the night.”

Jack clenched his teeth, hating everything Spot just said. Katherine hadn't told him there were tears so Jack had to assume that Davey had gone all the way to Brooklyn just to cry in Spot’s arms. He curled his hand into a fist thinking about how emotionally vulnerable Davey would have been. And if he stayed the night…Jack didn’t want to think about it.

“If you think that his being gone for the last two days has _nothing_ to do with you, you’re a bigger dumbass than I thought,” Spot concluded. “A bigger dumbass and a shittier friend. If you can even call yourself his friend.”

“Of course I’m his friend!” Jack burst. He had sat nice and quiet for longer than he anticipated despite his blood boiling with every word Spot said.

“I think if you ask him, you’ll get a different answer,” Spot shrugged. The bell rang indicating the end of the lunch period and Spot rose to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Great talk, Kelly. Let’s not do it again sometime.”

Spot turned and joined the sea of students leaving the cafeteria. Jack immediately stood and chased after Spot, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. Spot miraculously decided to give Jack another minute of his time.

“Okay, look. Spot, listen. I’ve been _trying_ to apologize to him, okay? I feel real bad about what I said to him-”

____

“As you should, what’s your point?”

____

“That I’m not as shitty a friend as you think.”

____

“If that’s your biggest concern, then yeah, you are,” Spot stated coldly. “I think that what’s best for Dave right now is for you to fuck right off until he’s ready to be in the same _building_ as you. You got that, Kelly?”

____

He didn’t wait for Jack’s confirmation before he melted back into the crowd. Jack stared after him, feeling as though he had just gotten slapped. Racetrack appeared at his shoulder, carrying Jack’s abandoned backpack.

____

“So…” he broached. “What’d he say? They didn’t, right?”

____

It took three repetitions of his name before Jack even acknowledged Race’s sudden appearance beside him. Even then, he was still too stung by the conversation to answer Race when he asked his question again. Race took his shocked silence as all the answer he needed and deflated slightly. He just nodded and shoved Jack’s backpack into his arms before muttering a weak, “See you later” and disappeared among the other students.

____


	12. Chapter 12

Jack didn’t want to be dramatic but he thought he was going to die. Spot had managed to strike a nerve that Jack didn’t even know he had. He _was_ a good friend to Davey, no matter what Spot said. In fact, his being a good friend to Davey was the entire reason he had started interfering in the relationship in the first place. He just wanted to keep Davey from getting hurt, but it turned out that he had been the only one to hurt Davey. He had hurt him so badly that Davey willingly skipped school for _two_ days just to avoid Jack.

Jack was a zombie for the rest of the day, simply going through the motions of his classes without participating. Even in his art class, he just sat there, staring at his blank canvas, waiting for the final bell of the day to dismiss him. He just wanted to go home and die.

And when the final bell rang at long last, he was the first one out the door. He met his brother for their journey home on the subway. Unlike most of their commutes back home, Jack was silent and refused to be cheered up by any of the methods Crutchie tried—good jokes, bad jokes, anecdotes to distract him, assurances that everything would be fine, or hugs. 

When they were nearing the apartment after they got off the subway, Crutchie cautiously asked if Jack wanted to talk about it.

“If I did, I would’ve already,” Jack pointed out as he helped Crutchie up the stairs to their front door. He dug the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, ready to curl up in his bed.

“Is it about Davey?” Crutchie ventured, following close behind. “Because everything with him will be fine.”

“He hates me,” Jack scoffed at his brother before heading into their bedroom.

Crutchie followed after him, assuring Jack that Davey didn’t hate him, only to get the door closed in his face.

“Okay, I know you’re upset and probably want some time alone, but can I get my laptop?”

Jack opened the door, handed Crutchie his laptop, and then closed the door again. Crutchie weakly thanked him before moving to the kitchen table.

 

Jack emerged from their room only once before bed, and that was only to heat up some leftover ravioli for dinner. Crutchie took advantage of the opportunity to talk to him.

“Everything will be okay, Jack. Davey doesn’t hate you. You're best friends.”

Jack stared at Crutchie for several seconds.

“You can come back in,” he stated simply. That was all he said before disappearing back into their bedroom with his plate.

Crutchie turned around in his chair to call after him, asking if he wanted to talk about it, but he received no response.

 

Jack continued in this way for the entire weekend. He only left his bed in order to eat or to use the bathroom. Sometimes he wouldn’t even do the former and Crutchie would bring him a plate of food that would go mostly untouched, but Crutchie knew Jack appreciated it anyway.

Every few hours, Crutchie would check in with his brother but only got the silent treatment or, if Jack _did_ talk, clipped responses. Needless to say, Crutchie was getting very worried about him.

On Sunday night, he decided that he was going to force Jack to talk with him, whether he liked it or not. What he was doing was _not_ healthy.

“Hey, Jack,” he started casually, hopping up onto the ladder. Jack just groaned in response, rolling over and burying his head in his pillow. Crutchie pulled himself all the way up to the top rung and sat at the foot of Jack’s mattress.

“Nooo,” Jack whined, shaking his head. “Go awaaay.”

“I’m not gonna do that, Jack,” Crutchie shook his head. “I just wanna know what’s going on here.”

“Nothing,” Jack shrugged, peeking at his brother.

“Oh yeah,” Crutchie laughed sarcastically. “You always become a burrito of sadness over nothing.”

“I ain’t a-” Jack reevaluated how honest he could be about his state when he was cocooned in his blanket. “Alright, fine.”

“It’s about Davey, right?” Crutchie asked. “’Cause he’s gonna forgive you.”

“How do you know?” Jack scoffed. “You don’t even know what I did.”

Crutchie shrugged and reached out to gently pat Jack’s side. That was the most he had heard out of Jack in the last forty-eight hours.

“Then do you wanna tell me?” he asked with a small smile. Jack barked out a laugh. He didn’t need _more_ people knowing just how awful a friend he had been to David. “Okay. You don’t gotta tell me.”

“Good,” Jack replied. “Because I’m not gonna.”

Crutchie sighed and poked Jack until he moved over so he could lie down beside him.

“Noooo,” Jack weakly protested as Crutchie wrapped around him. He didn’t push Crutchie away though. They stayed in that position for nearly twenty seconds before Crutchie finally spoke.

“You’re being really dumb, you know.”

Jack twisted around in Crutchie’s arms, only succeeding in further tangling himself in his blanket, and frowned at him.

“Davey hates me and this is a perfectly reasonable reaction to that,” he pointed out.

“First of all,” Crutchie smiled. “It’s good that you’re talking again. I missed it.” Jack rolled his eyes. “And _second_ , I’ve been telling you that Davey doesn’t hate you, he just-”

“He spent the night with Spot.”

Crutchie blinked at him slowly.

“But…but nothing happened,” he assured. Jack shot him a weird look. “I mean, it’s _Davey_. Nothing happened.”

“Then what would Spot tell me that for?” Jack asked. He didn’t expect Crutchie to have an answer for him.

“Because he knows you like Davey and he wanted to get under your skin?” he suggested.

“I don’t like Davey,” Jack rebutted. “Not like that. We’re friends.” He added “I hope,” under his breath since he was not actually sure if he and Davey were still friends since they hadn’t spoken since Wednesday.

“Jack,” Crutchie accused.

“I don’t,” Jack insisted.

Crutchie’s skepticism was written across his face but he sighed and conceded to Jack.

“Fine, you don’t like Davey,” he repeated with a shrug. 

Jack rolled back around so he faced away from Crutchie but didn’t kick him out of the bed. Crutchie hugged him again and sat up, making his way for the ladder. He suddenly stopped and asked, “Since you don’t like Davey, when he and Spot inevitably break up,” Jack allowed himself a smug smile at the fact that Crutchie agreed that it was a doomed relationship, “you don’t mind if I ask him out, right?”

Jack tried to sit up in shock but his burrito betrayed him. He thrashed about for a few seconds, trying to untangle himself.

“Why would you do that?” he demanded once he was freed.

“Well, it’s like Spot said,” Crutchie continued without looking at Jack. “Davey’s real nice and smart and he listens to people so they feel real important-like. Plus, you’ve got to admit he’s real cute and-”

“Yeah, I know all this, Crutch, but you can’t just _do_ that!”

“Why not?” Crutchie asked, turning to Jack with a glint in his eyes. “You know that _I_ would never, ever hurt him. Not like Spot is obviously going to.”

Jack faltered. That was true. Crutchie would never cause harm to anyone who didn’t deserve it and Davey would never deserve it. But that didn’t automatically mean that Jack was going to approve of it.

“Yeah. But you still can’t do that,” Jack persisted.

“Why not?” Crutchie asked. “I think we’d make a very cute couple.”

Jack grimaced at his brother and slowly shook his head.

“You’re not hearing me,” he groaned.

“So,” Crutchie concluded triumphantly. “It’s not just about Davey maybe getting hurt.”

Jack’s jaw dropped slightly as Crutchie made his accusation. He just stared at his brother as he tried to comprehend how he had fallen into a trap like that.

“I…” he tried to protest but he had no argument. If it were just about protecting Davey, he should have no problem with Crutchie hypothetically dating him and yet the churning in his stomach suggested that he had a _major_ problem with it.

Crutchie patted him on the shoulder and started his careful descent, leaving Jack with a simple “Just…think about it, alright?”

 

“Hey Crutchie, you still awake?” Jack suddenly asked a little after midnight. He had taken Crutchie’s advice and thought about considering the possibility that he might have other intentions than protecting Davey, which only seemed to be causing more problems. “Crutchie?” No response. “Crutch?” Nothing. “Charlie?” A light snore.

Exasperated, Jack climbed down the ladder and knelt by his brother’s side. He reached over and gently shook him awake, causing him to jolt up.

“Crutchie wake up.”

“Jack?” Crutchie peered through the darkness at his brother. “What’re you doing? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Well, no, but yeah I’m okay,” Jack assured with a nod. “I just needed to talk to you.”

Crutchie squinted at the alarm clock and groaned.

“Can’t it wait until morning?” he asked, flopping onto his pillow with a dull thud.

“No, it’s important,” Jack insisted.

He took several seconds to build up his courage and Crutchie took these moments of silence to settle back into his sleeping position.

“I think I like Dave,” Jack confessed just as sleep was about to take hold of Crutchie again.

“About time,” Crutchie murmured, nuzzling against his pillow.

“No, Crutchie, you need to wake up,” Jack shook him again. Crutchie rolled back over to face Jack, barely opening his eyes. “This is bad.”

“Why?” Crutchie groaned. “You’ve liked guys before.”

“But this is _Davey_ ,” Jack explained. “He’s my best friend and he can’t even be in the same _building_ as me so what am I supposed to do about this?”

Crutchie hummed and nodded at Jack absently.

“Sounds like you really need to talk to him,” he suggested with a yawn.

“He’s not talking to me, Crutchie,” Jack emphasized. He _would_ talk to Davey if Davey would even look at him.

“Sounds…sounds like,” Crutchie mumbled, fading. “Sounds like you need to talk to him.”

Jack gave Crutchie an unamused look as he determined that a sleepy Crutchie was no use in giving advice. He sighed, wished his brother goodnight, and climbed back to his bed, where he tried to solve his problem himself. He devised no better solution than ‘talk to him’ before falling asleep. He could only pray that Davey would listen.


	13. Chapter 13

Davey returned to school on Monday and Jack was only a little ashamed of how excited he was about that. With the way his heart leapt upon first seeing Davey, he wondered how he had never realized his feelings for him before. Now all he had to do was talk to him—he didn’t plan on confessing his feelings or anything crazy like that, but he did hope to talk to Davey since he had returned.

Davey seemed to have other plans since he wouldn’t even _look_ at Jack when they passed in the halls. Jack even called out to him in case Davey hadn’t seen him. Once, Davey looked over at him just to make the point of turning away, and Jack’s stomach sank. Clearly, he still had a long way to go.

Lunch was particularly difficult because Spot could shower Davey with kisses and other disgusting displays now that he was back. Jack wanted to vomit. Across the table from him, even with his back to Spot and Davey, Race seemed to be barely keeping himself together. Jack nodded sympathetically at him.

“If you come by Tibby’s when I’m working Wednesday, I can give you something on the house,” he said. Race forced a smile and Jack knew that a free pizza wouldn’t make the situation any better, but free pizza sure as heck couldn’t make it _worse_.

“Thanks, Jack,” Race nodded with a slightly more genuine smile. “I’ll be there.”

 

On Tuesday, Davey continued with his cold shoulder treatment. Just because Jack had been expecting it didn’t mean that it hurt any less. Jack continued trying to talk to him in the halls, but Davey brushed him aside.

The same thing happened on Wednesday. Jack asked if he was going to come to Tibby’s that afternoon (“’Cause turns out my essay for Denton wasn’t so hot after all.”) but he received no response as Davey walked away.

“Alright, see you there!” Jack called after him. Davey had never missed a Tibby’s study session.

 

Davey was five minutes late but Jack gave him the benefit of the doubt. As much as he hated to think about Davey’s interactions with Spot, he found himself hoping that Davey had just lost track of time with him—probably making out under the bleachers like some cliched teen movie—and was on his way. Jack pulled out his cell phone in case Davey had sent him a text explaining his tardiness. Nothing.

The bell above the door chimed and Jack looked up eagerly only to find Race walking into the shop. He tried to hide his disappointment but evidently he hadn’t done a very good job.

“Wow, don’t look so happy to see me,” Race laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry. You’re early,” Jack explained as Race slid into the booth across from him.

“It’s never too early for free pizza,” Race pointed out. His eyes zeroed in on the stapled papers in front of Jack. “What’s that?”

Jack frowned and stowed the essay in his backpack.

“It’s nothing,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Ooh, _love letters_?” he teased.

“No!” Jack scoffed.

Race held up an invisible paper with one hand and placed his other over his heart.

“‘My dearest Dave, your eyes are the sweetest blue I ever saw-’” he swooned, batting his eyes, as Jack protested.

“‘My darling Spot,’” Jack shot back. “‘Every night I dream of your lips and-’ okay, I can’t do this.” He shuddered and shook his head. There was no way he could even _pretend_ to be infatuated with Spot Conlon, not even for the sake of making fun of Race.

Race sat back and sighed. “Look at us. What is _wrong_ with us?”

“What is wrong with _them_?” Jack corrected. “I mean, I don’t know what Spot’s deal is—do you know? Did you, I don’t know, say something to him?”

Race fixed Jack with a skeptical look.

“Are you seriously asking me if I bet him to do this?” he asked. “Why would I do that? ‘Hey Spot, I like you so here’s some money to see if you can seduce somebody _else_?’ Where’s the logic in that?”

“You once bet Specs you could wear the same pair of socks for a month,” Jack reminded him.

“So?” Race scoffed, not seeing the correlation.

“ _So_ , I’m just saying that you and logic ain’t always the best of pals.”

“Well, _I’m_ just saying that I didn’t have anything to do with that,” Race assured. “I don’t want them together any more than you do.”

Jack nodded and a lull fell over them. He checked his phone again. Still nothing.

“So, what was it anyhow?” Race asked, breaking the silence.

“What was what?” Jack asked.

“The paper.”

“Oh.” Jack slowly nodded and looked to his backpack. “An essay. Davey was supposed to help me edit it.”

Race’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Davey, passing up a teaching opportunity?” he all but laughed. “You musta _really_ pissed him off.”

“Gee, thanks, Race! I had _no_ idea!” Jack burst. He was about one second away from slamming his head into the table.

“What did you even _do_?” Race asked, trying to subdue his laughter.

Jack bowed his head in shame. He decided that Race didn’t need to know _everything_ that had happened because he would never hear the end of it otherwise.

“First, I punched Spot in the face—” Race stared at Jack in disbelief and his protest was silenced. “He deserved it, okay? He said he loved Davey, which we both know isn’t true.” Race grimaced at the information but he seemed to accept it as a valid enough reason to punch Spot. Or, if he didn’t, he didn’t say anything.

“And then I told Spot that Davey told me that he didn’t even _like_ him,” Jack continued, conveniently skipping the interaction that had taken place during the previous week’s study session.

“Hold up, what?” Race stopped Jack. “He doesn’t _like_ him?” Jack nodded in confirmation. “Then what’s the point?”

Jack shrugged. “I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

Race seemed to have a revelation and he stared across the table, struck. His eyes were wide and his jaw slack. If Jack didn’t know better, he might think he was about to cry. Without words, Jack understood the conclusion and quickly shook his head.

“No. No, that…that’s _not_ it,” Jack assured. “The Davey that I know—we both know—wouldn’t be in any relationship just for sex.” He couldn’t entirely tell if he was trying to convince Race or himself.

Race nodded and muttered that he ‘sure hoped he was right about that’ before casually mentioning that he still wanted his free pizza.


	14. Chapter 14

Jack returned home from his shift at Tibby’s thoroughly dissatisfied. Not only did he have to haggle Race down from the most expensive pizza (that Jack was sure he wouldn’t even _like_ but he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity), but Davey had never shown up. He dropped his backpack to the floor of his bedroom and kicked it in frustration. He whipped his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Davey.

 

From: Jack  
How much longer are you going to keep this up because I have been TRYING to make things better with you

 

He sighed, knowing that Davey wouldn’t text back. He hadn’t texted back in a week so today would likely be no different. He pocketed his phone again and stormed to the kitchen, hoping to find comfort in some junk food. He grabbed a bag of chips and a bag of cookies before returning to his bedroom.

He stopped to kick his backpack once more, this time noting that Crutchie wasn’t in his bed like he was supposed to be. Jack tossed the snacks onto his bunk and returned to the main area of the apartment.

“Crutchie?” he called out. Crutchie was _supposed_ to be there. Where else would he be? He hadn’t said anything about going out. “Crutch, you here?”

Jack, growing concerned, texted him about his location. A few seconds later, he heard a buzz and saw the light of Crutchie’s phone out of the corner of his eye. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and made his way to the chairs in front of the television. He picked Crutchie’s phone up from the coffee table, furrowing his brow. Crutchie wouldn’t leave behind his phone if he was going somewhere, but he also wouldn’t not respond when Jack called his name if he was still in the apartment. He knew he was being paranoid when he considered that Crutchie had been abducted, but still, that was a possibility.

The phone buzzed in his hand and he truly thought for a second it might have been Crutchie. Then he realized that Crutchie wouldn’t text _himself_ in order to talk to Jack. He didn’t even know Jack had his phone.

He glanced at the phone and his heart flipped.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
I’m pretty sure he’ll understand why I skipped.

 

Objectively, Jack knew that it was wrong to hack into his brother’s phone. But was it _really_ hacking if his fingers just so _happened_ to accidentally unlock it?

Jack glanced around surreptitiously and slid his fingers across the screen.

“Oops,” he murmured.

His fingers hovered over the texts, deliberating. This was wrong, he knew that. He shouldn’t snoop through Crutchie's messages, but Davey hadn’t given _him_ the time of day in a week.

He pressed the text message icon and got into the messages from Davey. He stared in disbelief as he scrolled through the messages and discovered that Davey had been in _constant_ contact with Crutchie in spite of completely ignoring Jack's existence. The earliest ones that he cared about seeing were from the Sunday when he punched Spot.

 

From: Crutchie  
Jack did something real dumb. Don’t be mad at him?

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Spot told me what he did.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
And yes, I am mad at him. He can’t just go around punching people!

From: Crutchie  
He’s just worried Spot is gonna hurt you.

 

Jack nodded firmly. He was glad that Crutchie was at least trying to get Davey to understand. Everyone else might have written Jack’s concern off as jealousy, but Crutchie…people would actually listen to Crutchie.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Spot won’t hurt me.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone because he’s got his whole reputation to keep up, but he’s actually really nice.

 

Jack’s momentary pride had subsided and he glared at the phone. Spot _wasn’t_ really nice and he couldn’t believe that Davey would be satisfied being with him. He shook his head at the message and continued scrolling through the texts.

 

From: Crutchie  
Okay. I hope you’re happy with Spot [smiley face emoji]

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
I am.

 

There was a bit of a lull in the conversation concerning Jack or Spot for a couple of days. Instead, the texts from that Monday and Tuesday were filled with questions about homework or Crutchie sending history memes that he thought Davey would enjoy.

Then, Jack’s stomach churned all over again when he realized what happened the next day. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to read about the day they stopped being friends, this time from Davey’s perspective.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Did Jack do his Denton essay?

From: Crutchie  
Yeah. He says it’s B- work [smiley face emoji]

From: Crutchie  
Hey. What happened today? He’s real upset. Went to see [princess emoji] and everything. So you know its Bad…

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Any other homework?

 

He had to admit that he was disappointed. Davey avoided the topic entirely to just talk about schoolwork. Despite dreading it, he actually wanted to know what Davey thought of him after that.

“No,” Jack murmured in confusion, scrolling up and down, trying to find some hidden text about what Jack had said. There was no way that Davey wouldn’t have talked to Crutchie about what had happened. He’d talked to Katherine about it and gone to Brooklyn to talk to Spot about it, so he had to have sent Crutchie a text, right? “C’mon…”

“Jack?” came Crutchie’s voice. Jack looked up, feeling trapped. How long had he been there? Jack’s eyes flitted between his brother and the phone in his hand.

“Hi,” he greeted, trying to remain calm despite being caught red-handed.

“Is that my phone?” Crutchie asked, slowly approaching him.

“Uh…” Jack looked at the phone and tried to figure out the best path. “Yeah. Yeah, I thought you got kidnapped so, like all the TV shows do, I was seeing if there was anything on your phone-”

“I went to the corner store,” Crutchie laughed, shaking his head. He held up the plastic bag in his hand as further evidence. Now, he was close enough to see the screen and his eyes widened. “You’re going through my _texts_? Jack!”

Seeing Crutchie’s shocked and betrayed face, Jack panicked. His first instinct was to run from the situation, so he ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He continued through the texts.

 

From: Crutchie  
Where were you today?

From: Crutchie  
Are you okay?

 

Jack could hear Crutchie pounding on the door and shouting at him to give the phone back or he would bust down the door with his crutch, but he ignored him.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
I overslept a bit and had to get back home to get clothes and by the time I was back, it was too late to go.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Sorry to worry you.

From: Crutchie  
“Get back home?” Where were you?

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Spot’s.

 

Jack felt bile coming up in his throat. He did _not_ want to read about that. He forced himself to scroll through the messages anyway.

 

From: Crutchie  
You stayed at Spot’s? 

From: Crutchie  
Over night?

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Yeah.

From: Crutchie  
You were safe right?

From: Crutchie  
And you’re going to go get tested right?

From: Crutchie  
And he didn’t pressure you or nothing, right?

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
We didn’t do that!

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Jesus, Crutchie!

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Thanks for the no-judgment zone and all, but Jesus…

 

Jack breathed a heavy sigh of relief. _Thank God._ He would have to tell Race at some point, but there was still almost a week’s worth of texts he had to read.

Crutchie’s pounding got more insistent.

“Jack, what are you _doing_ in there?” he cried desperately.

“It’s a bathroom, what do you think?” Jack responded, tearing his attention away from Davey’s texts.

“What are you doing _with my phone_?” Crutchie groaned, rephrasing his question.

Jack waved his hand dismissively without regard for the fact that Crutchie couldn’t see him.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
I just had to talk to him. And then it was too late to go back home.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
He slept on the sofa.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
My God…

From: Crutchie  
I’m glad you’re okay.

From: Crutchie  
Oh! You missed a test for Bunsen. I’m sure he’ll let you make it up.

From: Crutchie  
You know, it always struck me weird that Bunsen teaches history

From: Crutchie  
You’d think he’d teach chem [laughing crying face emoji]

 

Jack groaned at Crutchie’s dumb pun.

“Jack, just give me my phone back!” Crutchie pleaded from the other side.

“No can do!” Jack insisted as he looked through the messages from Friday. He needed to see what was going through Davey’s brain and this was the only way to do it.

 

From: Crutchie  
Where are you? Are you okay? Did you sleep at Spot’s again?

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
I’m fine, Crutchie, don’t worry.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
I just…had to take another day.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
If I were there, Jack would want to talk and I just can’t do that right now.

From: Crutchie  
Oh. Okay then. [thumbs up emoji]

 

Jack’s stomach knotted. So Spot _had_ been right after all. He was the reason Davey skipped a second day. He felt like he was going to be sick.

There was another slight lull in the messages on Saturday. Jack didn’t want to imagine what Davey could have possibly been doing that would keep him from responding to Crutchie’s memes.

On Sunday, however, Jack found a string of messages he thought were very important.

 

From: Crutchie  
Please say something to Jack. Anything?

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Is something wrong?

From: Crutchie  
He’s been lying in bed for two days and I’m worried.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Oh.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
I can’t. I don’t have anything to say to him.

From: Crutchie  
Just tell him you don’t hate him. That you’re still friends.

From: Crutchie  
Please?

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
You don’t understand.

 

That was worse than everything Spot had said to him on Friday. Jack felt like he was going to puke, he felt his heart being torn in two, and he felt his blood run cold. That confirmed it. Davey hated him. Davey hated his guts and never wanted to see him again.

“Jack, you can’t text him!” Crutchie begged from the other side of the door.

That…was a genius idea. Jack couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. He didn’t read through the rest of the texts, just pressed the box that said ‘Type a message…’

He had no idea what to say. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He typed out a couple of messages, trying his best to imitate Crutchie’s texting style. He couldn’t let Davey catch on. He sent the texts.

 

From: Crutchie  
You can stop with Spot now

From: Crutchie  
Jack told me he likes you

From: Crutchie  
And he knows you liked him

From: Crutchie  
So…Yeah.

 

Jack waited with bated breath, hoping for a response before Crutchie took a battering ram to the door. Davey had sent a text about ten minutes earlier so he _should_ still be by the phone…right?

“Jack, I swear to _God_ ,” Crutchie whined. "Just open the door." Jack just shushed him, staring intently at the screen.

He had started pacing around the bathroom anxiously. He needed to get a response in the next two minutes or he would scream. By some miracle, the phone buzzed in his hand.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
What.

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
He said he likes me?

 

Jack started to type a response, slowly and deliberately, thinking over each word. He needed to keep up his masquerade as Crutchie. In the middle of his typing, he received a new message.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Wait. Liked? Past tense?

 

Jack narrowed his eyes at the phone and erased his text in favor of a response to that.

 

From: Crutchie  
Yeah. Past tense. Why?

 

Jack’s heart pounded hard. He cursed under his breath because what if Crutchie already knew the answer to ‘Why?’ and then he wouldn’t get any response or, worse, Davey would get angry at him for impersonating his brother in order to contact him in the first place.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
If he hates me as much as I think…Past tense is good.

 

Jack stared at the phone in shock. He didn't hate _Davey_ , he hated _Spot_. His fingers flew hurriedly across the small keyboard, letting autocorrect take care of any issues that might arise.

 

From: Crutchie  
No he doesn’t hate you Davey be could never hate you

From: Crutchie  
He just wants to be friends again or maybe more but your with sport and you don't even like him and you liked Jack and Jack likes you so maybe one you two figure things out you could maybe figure something out???

 

Jack stared at the words his fingers had written without his knowledge. His throat constricted, his stomach twisted and untwisted, and he frantically tapped on the screen to try to get the text to come back. He put the phone down on the sink and paced around the bathroom again muttering to himself. He didn’t know what to expect from a reply, if Davey would even reply at all.

It felt like an eternity before the phone lit up again. He snatched it.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
How did you know I don’t like Spot?

 

Jack wasn’t sure if he should laugh at the fact that _that_ was all Davey had taken away from the massive incriminating text or breathe a huge sigh of relief about it.

 

From: Crutchie  
Jack told me.

 

Jack took a moment to consider how to proceed and he was struck with an idea. He typed out a new message as Davey sent his response.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Oh. That makes sense. What else did he tell you?

From: Crutchie  
He’s real sorry about everything. Can you just give him a chance to apologize? Face to face? Just talk to him? Please? For me?

 

It felt like another century before Jack received another text.

 

From: Davey [flower emoji] [sun emoji]  
Okay. I can’t say I forgive him. But I’ll talk to him.


	15. Chapter 15

Jack couldn’t believe that he had gotten Davey to agree to talk to him again. He was hardly even upset about how angry Crutchie was that he had stolen his phone because he was just so elated that Davey was giving him the time of day again.

That night, he could hardly sleep from the excitement at the prospect of talking to Davey again. He knew he would regret it when he woke up for school, but it would all be fine once he and Davey got to talk.

 

Davey seemed to have forgotten the agreement because he continued to ignore Jack in the halls although he called out to him multiple times. During American Lit, he had resorted to _note-passing_ and, more importantly, trusting that none of his friends would open the note on its way to Davey. Davey didn’t even open it.

After class, on their way to lunch, Jack kept pace with David so there was no possible way to ignore him.

“Davey,” he started. What was he supposed to say? ‘While I was pretending to be Crutchie, you said you were going to talk to me and now you aren't, so what gives?’

“Jack,” Davey nodded at him curtly before trying to skirt around him. Jack grabbed either side of him and brought him over to the side of the hall, out of everyone’s way.

“Don’t touch me,” Davey shook himself out of Jack’s grasp. He started to walk away but Jack grabbed him again, only succeeding in taking his hand. Davey whipped back around, snatching his hand back out of Jack’s grip. “What did I just _say_?”

“Look, Dave, I just wanna talk to you,” Jack explained. He tried to give the most innocent, puppy-like expression he could manage. “But I can’t do that if you keep walking away.”

Davey sighed and stood still, his arms folded across his chest.

“Well?” he asked.

Jack faltered. He couldn’t lead with his apology. Then the conversation would be over too quickly. He needed more time with Davey.

“Sit with me at lunch?” Jack requested before he could walk away again. “Please? I wanna talk with you.”

Davey seemed to consider the proposition, staring down his nose at Jack in a way that made him feel incredibly small.

“Fine. Okay, we’ll talk,” he finally agreed after what surely only could have been seconds. Before Jack could even breathe a sigh of relief and thank him, he continued. “But _you’re_ sitting with _me_.”

Jack knew exactly what that meant: this would be a conversation between him, Davey, and Spot. Spot would get to listen to him grovel for Davey’s forgiveness. That was not at all what he wanted.

 

Jack had the horrible feeling that he was walking into the lion’s den as he and Davey approached Spot Conlon’s lunch table. Spot looked up from his meal suspiciously as he saw his boyfriend bringing Jack along.

He rose to his feet and immediately pressed a kiss to David’s lips. It quickly got more passionate and Spot was controlling the kiss, his hand at the back of Davey’s head.

Jack cleared his throat and Davey pulled away, embarrassed, but Spot pressed one more kiss against his lips before wrapping his arm around Davey’s waist. Davey squirmed at his touch. Jack narrowed his eyes at Spot, trying to decipher what sort of game he was playing here.

“So uh,” Spot began with a nod in Jack’s direction. “What’s this, babe?”

“Jack just wants to talk,” Davey explained in hushed tones. “But we should get food first.”

Spot nodded and sat down on the bench. He gave Davey a farewell slap on the butt as he and Jack started off towards the lunch line. Jack grimaced at the interaction.

“Davey,” Jack began warily, but Davey didn’t respond. No matter how many times he tried to strike up a conversation about what he had just witnessed, Davey simply brushed it off or ignored him.

They returned to the table with their school-quality sandwiches and milk cartons. Davey slid in next to his boyfriend and Jack sat opposite with them. As soon as Davey was beside him, Spot immediately started playing with his hair.

_Don’t let it get to you,_ Jack warned himself. He knew that Spot was just doing it to rub the relationship in Jack’s face, but it was difficult to follow through with not allowing it to affect him, especially once Spot began pressing gentle kisses to Davey’s jawline.

“Spot,” Davey giggled, shaking his head and softly pushing him away. Jack thought he quietly heard Davey tell him to “Stop it,” but he was still smiling and it didn’t seem like he was all _that_ upset about the kisses.

Jack frowned. Sure, Davey had pushed him away, but that wasn’t _enough_. If he followed Spot’s arm from his shoulder to where it disappeared beneath the table, he supposed that he was still keeping his hand on Davey’s thigh. Davey’s gaze was fixed on Jack’s elbow.

Spot cocked his head with a smirk at Jack.

“So,” he began. “What can we do you for, Jacky boy?”

Jack should have thought about how he would start this conversation. With Davey alone it would have been easier, but now that Spot was in the mix, he had to anticipate what he would say.

“It uh…I…I just-”

“Because _I_ thought I told you to fuck right off?”

“You did what?” Davey asked softly, looking between his boyfriend and his best friend, but Spot continued without answering him. Spot clearly hadn’t shared that piece of information.

“It ain’t _our_ fault you’re jealous,” Spot continued without regarding Davey.

“I ain’t jealous,” Jack defended. Granted, he knew that he _was_ , but Spot didn’t need to have it confirmed. 

Spot sat back and folded his arms across his chest and quirked a brow at Jack in a way that Jack definitely did not like. He tried to brace himself for whatever was about to happen, but he didn’t even know what to expect.

Spot leaned in and whispered something to Davey. Davey looked at him skeptically and his wariness made Jack’s stomach churn. Spot just gave him a nod of encouragement and a quick peck on the cheek before nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Jack narrowed his eyes in suspicion. That couldn’t be all…

Davey took a deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes.

“So, Jack,” he said when he opened them again. "Let's talk." This appeared to be some sort of cue for Spot as he shifted and started pressing chaste kisses along Davey’s neck. Davey sat up a little straighter in surprise. Obviously Spot didn’t mention his plan in whatever he had whispered to him. “Uh…um, you told Spot…the other day…” 

Spot must have done _something_ because Davey bit his lower lip and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Jack thought he heard a strangled noise but he convinced himself he was imagining things, for the sake of his own sanity. Davey pressed his elbow into Spot’s side as he looked around, worried about who might be witnessing this display.

“What? That you don’t like him?” Jack asked, deliberately in Spot’s direction. Two could play at this game.

“Yea-Ah!” Davey gasped and opened his eyes again as Spot did another _something_ to Davey’s neck. Jack didn’t even want to think about what it might have been. Spot had stopped changing positions so Jack’s brain made the connection that that must be some sort of erogenous zone. Davey’s face was slowly turning bright red. He pulled away from Spot with a warning glance towards him. Spot looked at him innocently enough though he flashed a smirk towards Jack.

Davey leaned in to have a hushed conversation with Spot. Jack strained his ears to hear anything, but all he caught was an urgent “ _Please_.”

Davey returned his focus to Jack and cleared his throat, trying to seem at least a little dignified in spite of what Spot had done. Spot stayed away until Davey regained his composure, but once Davey spoke, his mouth was back on his neck. Davey pressed his elbow against his ribs again.

“Why…uh, why would you…” Jack could see a red mark forming and curled his hand into a fist. “I told you that privately.”

Jack glared at Spot, who was probably leaving another mark on Davey just because he _could_ , as he crafted his answer. “Well, I figured that anyone who’s got his mouth all over you like that should at least _know_ you ain’t into him.”

That prompted Spot off of Davey better than Davey’s soft nudging had.

“Well, Jacky,” he started firmly, narrowing his eyes at Jack. This time, however, Davey spoke over him.

“It’s not _your_ place to decide what _my_ boyfriend knows,” he spat.

“How can you even call him your boyfriend if you don’t even like him?” Jack questioned honestly. Seizing his opportunity, he added, “You _didn’t_ like him, past tense; you _don’t_ like him, present tense; and you _won’t_ like him, future tense.”

Davey tensed up, his jaw falling slightly open. Jack was unsure if that was because he had just exposed himself as masquerading as Crutchie the previous evening or because he had just called Davey out on his past feelings for Jack. Either way, Jack felt like they might get somewhere now.

“Past tense is just that, Jack, _past_ ,” Davey stated slowly without looking across the table at him. He suddenly seemed to find his fingernails incredibly interesting.

“You can relive the past, Dave,” Jack pressed on, leaning across the table with a charming smile at Davey.

Davey shook his head at Jack sadly, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Past _can’t_ be present,” he insisted. He couldn’t let himself fall into his old pattern of pining after Jack ‘once or twice’ Kelly.

“Oh, c’mon, Dave,” Jack scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You do know I actually listen to you sometimes, right?”

“What do you mean?” Davey asked with his brows furrowed in confusion. First of all, he doubted that Jack _ever_ listened to him, and second of all, even if he did, what bearing did that have on this conversation?

“There’s the past tense that’s called the present,” Jack explained. “And if you can do that with grammar, then you can do that with life, right?”

Davey stared at Jack in disbelief.

“The present perfect?” he clarified. “You remember me telling you about the present perfect but you can’t get-”

“Could be perfect,” Jack suggested cheekily. Davey’s cheeks, still pink from Spot’s embarrassing him, flared up again. Jack could tell he was trying to hide a smile at the line. It may have been bad but it was one that would _only_ work on Davey Jacobs.

“Okay, what the hell are you talking about?” Spot demanded, putting an end to this nonsense.

“Nothing,” Davey insisted, shaking his head at Spot with a small smile. “It’s nothing. It’s…It’s in the past.”

Jack impulsively stood up and slammed his hands on the table.

“That is bullshit, Davey,” he accused. “Kath told me you were pining over somebody and just trying to get over him, so don’t say ‘it’s in the past’ as though it hasn’t affected this whole thing.” He gestured wildly between Davey and Spot.

“Jack, I-” Davey began, also rising to his feet. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say in response and he faltered. He simply stared at Jack sadly, his mouth hanging open as he tried and failed to come up with the right words.

Then Spot rose to his feet, glaring holes into Jack’s body. Although he was several inches taller than Spot, Jack felt the need to step back. Instead, he held his ground.

“I think,” Spot snarled, “it’s time for you to go.”

Jack glanced at his usual table—some of his friends had been watching the exchange, probably speculating that he was a prisoner since he would never sit with Spot Conlon willingly, and some had probably started taking bets on how quickly they would resort to violence. His eyes flitted back to Davey.

“Yeah,” he finally agreed, picking up his backpack and his sandwich. “I think it is.”

He started towards his table but changed his mind halfway there and turned back around. He walked back to the table where Spot and Davey were now seated again. Without thinking about the inevitable consequences, he bent over and kissed Davey.

Jack couldn’t say he regretted it, even after he was pushed away and a solid fist connected with his cheek.


	16. Chapter 16

Everything happened so fast. Jack retaliated, throwing a punch that just barely connected with Spot’s jaw. Spot pushed him out of the way of Davey, not wanting his boyfriend to get caught in the crossfire. The pair shouted incomprehensibly at each other, attracting further attention. Jack’s friends from his table, who had witnessed the whole thing, leapt into action, the money on their various bets momentarily forgotten—Specs got in between the fighters, fielding a few blows to his upper torso and pushed them both away from each other while Mush restrained Jack, holding his arms back as best he could as Jack struggled against him, and Race grabbed Spot around the middle as though he were performing the Heimlich maneuver. Spot twisted around and his elbow connected with Race’s jaw, eliciting an outburst. Spot spun around and stared in shock at his unintended target. Davey just sat in stunned silence, staring slack-jawed as everything happened around him.

“Are you _crazy?!_ ” huffed Race as he pried Spot away from Jack, tightening his grip around him. “You’re gonna get yourselves kicked outta school.”

“That would be for Principal Snyder to decide,” the patrolling science teacher, Mr. Wiesel, informed as he grabbed onto both boy’s upper arms. Mush, Race, and Specs stepped back with their hands held up innocently. Mr. Wiesel yanked the guilty parties towards the door as they only struggled a little against his grip. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Davey, finally brought out of his daze, shakily stood up and protested, “They’re hurt. They’ve got to go to the nurse, first.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Mr. Wiesel scolded, dragging Jack and Spot away. “They look fine to me.”

Most of the cafeteria had returned to their meals, gossiping about what they had just witnessed. Davey collected his things along with his best friend’s and his boyfriend’s, following after them.

Race turned around and asked the group, “So, who had that Spot would throw the first punch?” and a few hands shot up. Those who bet against that outcome began grumbling as they pulled money from their pockets.

“And who had that Jack would _kiss_ Dave?” Albert snorted, looking around. “Anyone? No?”

Specs cast a sidelong glance at Davey’s retreating figure weighed down with the three backpacks.

“I think _Davey_ ’s the only one who won that,” he laughed.

 

Jack and Spot could do nothing but give each other dirty looks as Mr. Wiesel escorted them to the third floor. As they drew nearer and nearer to Snyder’s office, Jack’s glares became more spaced out.

“Hey, you know, Davey was right,” he suddenly spoke up when the office was in sight, the first words he’d said on their whole journey. “We should go to the nurse. Get ice packs or something.”

“Aww,” Spot mockingly simpered. “You got hurt so bad you need an ice pack?”

“It’s for your ego,” Jack shot back, but Spot hadn’t finished with his insult so he didn’t respond to Jack’s.

“You need your Ma to kiss it and make it better too?”

“Nah, Dave’ll do just fine,” Jack smirked, knowing that that would get under Spot’s skin. 

It had the intended effect since Spot tried to wrench himself out of Mr. Wiesel’s grip to launch another attack on Jack.

“You stay the _fuck_ away from my boyfriend,” Spot spat at him.

“Simmer down!” Mr. Wiesel scolded as he continued to jerk them towards Principal Snyder’s office.

“Yeah, simmer down, _Sean_ ,” Jack sneered at him.

“Oh-ho, busting out the legal name, ballsy move, Kelly.”

“I said quiet, boys!” Mr. Wiesel snapped, dragging them into the office and depositing them on the wooden bench in front of the secretary. Spot immediately tried to attack Jack again and Mr. Wiesel restrained him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “For God’s sake, Conlon!”

He told the secretary to get Snyder ‘pronto’ to deal with the situation at hand. Jack clenched his teeth, not at all prepared to deal with Snyder after everything else. As luck would have it, the secretary said that Snyder was in a meeting at the moment but would be back in about ten minutes.

“Behave yourselves,” Mr. Wiesel warned, pointing a finger between the culprits. He told the secretary that he really had to get going to teach his class and that the secretary was to keep an eye on the boys, as though she needed that instruction.

The pair sat in silence for a couple minutes, just staring at anything except each other. Finally, Jack broke the silence by suddenly demanding, “What was that _stunt_ you pulled?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That whole _show_ you put on back there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spot stated as innocently as he could, shrugging at Jack. "I was just sharing a nice moment with my _boyfriend_ -”

Jack cut him off with a scoff. “Please! Anybody with eyes saw that Davey wasn’t into it. Hell, even _Blink_ could see it! So what was that _really_ about?”

“Settle down,” the secretary droned without looking up from her computer.

“All I’m saying is only one of us has a right to kiss him and it ain’t _you_ ,” Spot informed.

Jack glared at Spot and jeered, “And he only _wants_ to kiss one of us and that ain’t _you_.”

“How can you know he-”

A knock on the door interrupted the question and everyone in the office looked up at the newcomer. Davey Jacobs stood in the doorway carrying three backpacks and two ice packs wrapped in paper towels.

“Davey!” Jack exclaimed, rising to his feet.

“Sit down, Mr. Kelly,” the secretary commanded and Jack obediently followed, earning a snort from Spot, which he elected to ignore. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Davey shook his head at the secretary. “Thank you, though.”

“What are you doing here?” Spot asked in surprise. “What about your pre-calc class? Don’t you have that test?”

Jack shot Spot a glare. He was playing up the concerned boyfriend act just to prove to Jack that he actually knew Davey, but it wasn’t going to work. Jack was on to him.

“I’m in World History now,” Davey shook his head and Jack smirked. Spot didn't know Davey as well as he pretended to. “And Mr. Roose won’t mind if I show up a little late. Oh! I come bearing gifts.” He handed off the ice packs with a small, sympathetic smile at each of them. Jack might have imagined it but he was sure that Davey’s hand lingered when he passed him the ice pack.

Davey then dropped each of their backpacks off at their feet and Spot took advantage of the situation to kiss him again.

“I should probably get going,” Davey said, pulling back almost as soon as their lips met. Spot frowned up at how short the kiss was and glanced over at Jack accusingly.

As Davey was about to exit, Jack turned his back to Spot and said, “Hey, Davey?”

“Yeah?” Davey turned back around and leaned against the doorway.

“I think we should talk,” Jack nodded at him.

“You _just_ talked,” Spot protested. As he was doing so, Jack mouthed the word ‘alone’ at Davey. 

Davey’s eyes lit up as he gave a subtle nod at Jack. Somehow, it felt secret and forbidden and that made Jack’s heart leap in his chest. He mouthed ‘after school?’ but judging by Davey’s confused squint, he hadn’t understood. Jack settled for miming texting so Davey knew that he would receive a message later in the day.

“Uh, Dave?” Spot spoke up, seeming less than pleased to be excluded from this plan.

“I really _have_ to get going,” Davey replied, eager not to have to answer Spot’s accusation. He headed out the door and Jack swore he saw a glint of happiness in his eye.


	17. Chapter 17

Although Jack had immediately texted Davey about their plan once he had been dismissed from Snyder’s office, he had not received a reply. He presumed it was because Davey was the only one of his friends who didn’t check their phone during class, but he could hardly deal with the return to silence.

He anxiously waited through art class, and every time he checked the clock, time seemed to have gone backwards. He tried to focus on his work, but the second that the final bell rang he bolted out of the room, hoping to catch Davey by the school door.

Davey appeared to be one step ahead of him since he was coming down the hall to the art room at that moment. Jack beamed at him and pushed past some of the other bustling students in order to catch up to him.

“Hey,” he greeted, only a little wary. What if Davey was going to tell him that he had rethought it and he didn't want to talk to him anymore?

“Hey,” Davey returned with a nod. He paused for a second and Jack would have worried about the silence had he not been too busy drinking in Davey’s appearance. He’d missed it. “How’s your face?”

“Better now that you’re here,” Jack grinned as they began walking together towards the entrance to the school. Davey rolled his eyes.

“And how was ‘Snyder the Spider?’”

“Less horrible than usual,” Jack noted suspiciously. “Just got detention for four hours this Saturday.”

“That’s it?” Davey asked.

“I know!” Jack laughed. “I’m surprised as you are. Guess it wasn’t bad enough for suspension.”

“Guess not,” Davey agreed with a nod.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few seconds as they approached the front door. Then, fearing that Davey would start ignoring him again if they weren’t constantly talking, Jack spoke up again.

“So, uh, where are we going?”

Davey cocked his head slightly, confused.

“I thought we were going to your place?” he asked. “I mean, I just kind of assumed-”

“We _could_ go to mine,” Jack shrugged, “but Crutchie’ll be there.”

Davey glanced around and shrugged right back, not seeing what the big deal about that was.

“So?” he asked, pausing by the door.

“So,” Jack repeated. “We’d rather be alone, right?”

Davey seemed to deflate a little bit, and when Jack asked what was wrong, he just shrugged and explained, “I thought we would only talk…”

Jack could have died right then. Hearing Davey’s response made him realize his implication and he quickly backtracked.

“What? No! I didn’t mean—get your mind outta the gutter, Dave,” Jack laughed. “I was just thinking that Crutchie don’t need to be in the middle of all this. You know, keep what’s between us…y’know, between us.”

“Oh.” Davey swallowed hard and blinked down at Jack, unsure how to proceed. He had already put Crutchie in the middle of ‘all this’ by constantly texting him,but Jack didn’t need to know that. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Jack assured, playfully nudging his side. “You been spending so much time with Spot that it’s only natural.”

Before Davey could ask what Jack meant by that, he heard a shout of Jack’s name and both of them turned towards the source of the voice.

“Hey! Speak of the devil,” Jack laughed as Crutchie made his way over to them.

“Jack! I heard you got in a fight,” Crutchie laughed when he approached. “Who’d you-” He seemed to realize Davey’s presence at that moment and understood _exactly_ who Jack had fought. “Again, Jack?”

“Hey, he started it this time,” Jack protested. Crutchie didn’t need to be a helicopter parent anymore; he had already figured out that his problem had been that he liked Davey. Plus, if _Crutchie_ were the one who hated Spot, he wouldn't think the violence was outrageous.

“Dave’s coming over,” Jack interrupted before the conversation veered off to focus on Spot. “That cool?”

Crutchie stared at Davey with wide, excited eyes.

“You’re talking again?!” he beamed. Davey shrugged with a small smile towards Jack, and Crutchie hugged him tightly.

When he pulled away, Crutchie just said, “Good” before ushering them out the door because they would miss the train if they kept yammering.

The journey home was more than a little awkward. Everything that Jack wanted to say to Davey, he couldn’t talk about in front of other people, even Crutchie, who clearly already knew most of what had transpired. So he just sat beside his friend, feeling like a third wheel until they got home.

Once they arrived at the apartment, Crutchie immediately claimed the bedroom, shouting “dibs!” Jack deflated slightly but he supposed that after stealing his phone yesterday, he should let Crutchie have first choice of everything for a while in order to make up for it.

“You hungry?” Jack asked Davey, leading him to the kitchen. He went straight for the snack cupboard and scanned through it while Davey set his backpack down by the table. “We got chips and cookies and snack cakes and-” Jack gasped so loudly that Davey crossed to the cupboard to see what was wrong.

For some reason, he had been expecting a rodent of some kind or a particularly large bug. He had not been expecting Jack to turn to him holding a bag of Twizzlers and beaming at him.

“We got Twizzlers too!” he exclaimed, opening the bag. He stuck one between his teeth and held the bag out to Davey, offering him the treat. “Want one?”

Davey laughed and shook his head before playfully biting off the end of the licorice stick. Jack instinctually opened his mouth in feigned surprise and his Twizzler fell to the floor. He whined as he stooped to recover it, immediately replacing it.

“That’s disgusting,” Davey noted, trying to hide his laugh.

“What? You never heard of the five second rule?” Jack teased, making his way to the table with the bag of candy.

“Oh yeah, all the bacteria comes equipped with a stopwatch to be sure no germs get on your food during the allotted window,” Davey rolled his eyes and took the seat beside Jack’s.

“Exactly!” Jack brandished his licorice at Davey and took another bite to punctuate their agreement.

They fell into a comfortable silence, exchanging smiles. Davey reached into the bag and took a Twizzler for himself.

“I missed this,” he admitted softly, rolling the licorice between his fingers. 

Jack wanted to point out that _he_ was the one who had been distant all this time, but he refrained. Instead, he simply said, “Yeah, me too.”

Davey looked up at him with his eyes alight, but said nothing. Fearing further silence, Jack launched into his next point of conversation. “And…and I’m sorry for what happened back there. In the cafeteria. When I…well, you know. I’m sorry about that.”

Davey nodded minutely, averting his eyes again, and Jack swore he saw a faint blush and smile spread across his features. He stopped playing with the Twizzler.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Davey responded with forced nonchalance. He then cleared his throat and shook his head as if correcting himself. “Well, no, it’s not _fine_. I mean…”

“I know. I shoulda said something about liking you before I did that, but we were with Spot and that wasn’t a good idea—not like just hauling off and kissing you _was_ , but I wouldn’t have gotten to tell you,” Jack explained. “I wanted to, though. Tell you. That I like you.”

Davey just stared at Jack. For the second time since school ended that day, Jack had rendered him speechless.

“Dave?” Jack asked, leaning over the corner of the table, concern riddling his face. “Dave, you okay?” All Davey could do was nod. Jack reached out and teasingly ran his hand through Davey’s hair. “You sure? What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

Davey leaned into the touch with another small smile at Jack, trying to ignore that their faces were less than half a foot apart. He just shrugged one shoulder at him.

“Nah, Davey, you can’t do that again,” Jack insisted. “I just got you back, you can’t go back to the silent treatment.”

Jack stared at him with a look of almost desperation and all Davey could do was breathe, “Jack.” His gaze flickered momentarily down to Jack’s lips then back to Jack’s eyes and his breath hitched slightly. “Jack, I…”

“Yeah?” Jack breathed. They had gotten closer; their faces were almost touching, and Jack’s heart was beating hard and fast. He could feel the light flutter of Davey’s breath against his cheek.

Then, just as suddenly, Davey had pulled away. He focused his attention on the candy, peeling it apart strand by strand. Jack noted that he was trembling and his chest was rising and falling at an increased rate, and he immediately got up and pulled his chair closer to Davey’s.

“Dave, you okay?” Davey nodded but Jack didn’t believe him. “Look at me, okay?”

Davey slowly turned his head to look at Jack though he kept his gaze focused anywhere except Jack’s face. Jack’s fingers gently trailed up his neck and, as they grazed over the sensitive area Spot had attacked earlier, Davey sucked in a shuddering gasp that Jack elected to ignore. As Jack gently pressed his forefinger and middle finger against Davey’s pulse point, Davey lifted his chin slightly to accommodate Jack’s hand.

“Jack, we ca-”

“I ain’t trying to do nothing,” Jack assured with a smile. “I said we were going to talk, but we can’t do that if you’s having a panic attack.”

“I’m not,” Davey insisted, shaking his head fervently. “I’m fine.”

“Your heart’s out of control,” Jack pointed out.

Davey swallowed hard and pulled away from Jack. He muttered something too low for Jack to hear as he grabbed for his backpack and rose from his seat, refusing to look in Jack’s direction.

He then cleared his throat and said aloud, “I should…I should go, I have to-”

“Davey, wait,” Jack said hurriedly, standing and lightly grabbing Davey’s upper arm before he got too far away. Davey turned at the touch. “Davey. Mine too.” 

There was a moment of deliberation and Jack could see Davey weighing the options in his head before finally raising his hand to Jack’s neck to feel his racing pulse. As he did so, they locked eyes. 

Understanding this to be a sign of encouragement, Jack cautiously returned his hand to Davey’s neck and asked, “Please stay?”

They stayed that way for several seconds without moving, without speaking, without breaking eye contact. The only sound was their breathing and the light _thud_ as Davey’s backpack slipped from his grip.

“Jack,” Davey finally replied weakly, lowering his hand. “Jack, we can’t. I have a boyfriend.”

“He shouldn’t _be_ your boyfriend, you don’t even like him,” Jack countered, ignoring how his voice broke. He took a deep breath before making an educated guess. “You still like…me?”

There was a lull in the conversation and Jack thought for a split-second that he’d gotten it wrong. Davey didn’t like him, had never liked him, and all his friends who said so were in on some elaborate joke to make him look like an idiot.

“I shouldn’t,” Davey muttered and shook his head.

“Why not?”

Davey blinked at him and explained, “You don’t like _me_ , you just-”

“I do!” Jack insisted, dropping his hand from Davey’s neck.

“You like _having_ me,” Davey continued more fiercely. 

Jack took a step back, narrowing his eyes at Davey.

“What are you talking about? Did _Spot_ tell you that?”

“No,” Davey shook his head. “But he didn’t have to. I mean, _all of a sudden_ , you like me? Right when I get a boyfriend? _That’s_ when you decide you like me?” Jack tried to butt in, but Davey held up his hand. “Not in the years I was single and in love with you?” Jack gaped at him, unsure how to respond to such a confession. But he didn’t get the chance since Davey continued. “Waiting for you to show…I don’t know, _any_ indication that you might like me—”

“I didn’t _know_ I did!” Jack softened considerably and added, “I didn’t know _you_ did.”

“And instead, I had to watch you date Katherine, and _my sister_ , and I was always supportive,” Davey pointed out. His breathing had become ragged and Jack was worried that he was going to cry. “Even when it hurt—and it did. Damn it, Jack, it did—I was _always_ supportive. But you couldn’t even _pretend_ to be happy for me for one day.”

Jack shook his head. Davey had the story all twisted. That wasn't how it happened at all.

“Davey, listen to me,” he pleaded. “I did like you. I didn’t know it, I thought you were just my best friend, but you can ask anybody and they’ll tell you. Since you started this whole thing with Spot, all I’ve been hearing is ‘you’re jealous ’cause you love Dave, you’re jealous ’cause you love Dave,’ and, you know what? They were _right_. You hear that? They were _right_ , Davey!”

Davey stepped away from Jack, shaking his head. He looked almost disgusted by the phrase.

“You ‘love’ me because you can’t have me,” he assessed as coldly as he could manage. “Once I’m single again, we’ll go right back to how we were, and Jack, I can’t do that. Not anymore.”

“You won’t have to,” Jack assured. Davey skeptically raised an eyebrow at him and Jack burst, “Because! Okay, listen. When you break up with Spot…maybe _I_ could be your boyfriend?”

He paused for a moment, his heart swelling slightly. He had just offered a solution that involved being Davey’s boyfriend. He could be Davey’s boyfriend. He and Davey could be boyfriends. He had gotten so caught up in his euphoric reverie that he almost missed Davey’s response.

“Are you crazy? We’re not going to date.”

Jack raised his brows in confusion. That had seemed like the logical solution to this mess, and if he knew one thing about David Jacobs, it was that he always appreciated logical solutions.

“Why not?” he asked again, this time even softer.

“You want me to bounce right from one boyfriend to another?” Davey asked, almost laughing at the not-quite-a-request. Jack shrugged. He wanted to date him as soon as possible, that was true. Davey’s jovial features then darkened considerably. “You mean, like a slut?”

Jack blanched as he stared at Davey in shock. This was not how their talk was supposed to go at all. They were supposed to end at a higher point than they had started, not dig a deeper hole.

“I should go,” Davey shook his head regrettably and grabbed his backpack. He started towards the door, but turned when he was halfway there. “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah,” Jack responded numbly.

Davey looked like he wanted to say something different, something that Jack could only hope to know someday, but all he said was “I’ll see you tomorrow” before heading for the door.

Jack stood in stunned silence for a few seconds but he came to his senses and rushed after Davey. He caught up with him just as he was about to grab the doorknob.

“No, no, Davey. Davey, listen to me. Please, listen,” he begged, desperately tugging Davey away from the door.

“Let go of me, Jack.”

Jack released his hold on Davey’s upper arm and raced around him to block the door.

“Jack, move,” Davey sighed. Jack shook his head defiantly. “ _Move_ , Jack.”

“I can’t do that, Dave. We’ve still gotta talk.”

“I think you’ve said enough,” Davey countered. “What more could you _possibly_ want to say?”

Jack took a step closer to him, his hand gently grazing against the back of Davey’s. He locked eyes with him and asked, low and husky, “Can’t you see it in my eyes?”

Davey laughed under his breath and shook his head at how awful that line was. But he didn’t move away, which Jack considered a win.

“Has that line ever _actually_ worked for you?” he asked just above a whisper.

“Not yet,” Jack matched Davey’s tone. “But maybe that’ll change?”

They could feel their faces inching closer and closer together, like a slow-acting magnetic force.

“Jack,” Davey breathed with a shake of his head. “Jack, you don’t-”

“Feel my heart again,” Jack offered, grabbing Davey’s hand lightly and slowly guiding it back up to his neck. “Feel my heart and then tell me I don’t want you.”

Their faces were now close enough to feel the other’s breath dancing across their lips. Jack let go of Davey’s hand at his neck but Davey didn’t pull back. In fact, Davey brought Jack’s up to rest against his own pulse point. Their pulses matched. They hadn’t broken their gaze since their eyes met.

Neither of them were sure who had closed the gap between them, but it was definitely Davey who pulled away from the kiss. When Jack opened his eyes—how long had they even been closed? He’d had them open _before_ the kiss—he saw Davey staring at him in horror.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Oh my God, oh my God, _oh my God_. Oh my God, oh-”

“Dave, Dave, stay with me, okay?” Jack insisted, trying to get Davey to calm down and focus on grounding himself.

“No, no, no, no. I can’t stay here, I can’t… I have to…” He pushed Jack to the side and fumbled with the doorknob, swearing under his breath.

“Dave, take a deep breath, okay? Everything’s okay,” Jack tried to comfort him. All he got in return was a fervent head shake and the door slammed in his face as Davey disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally know what punishments for having fights on school grounds are...


End file.
